I 




41 




Library of Congress. 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



Chap 



:7^/A22 



Shelf _- 



9_4or-— ~~/36'T 



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THE 



SHADOW WORSHIPER 



OTHER POEMS 



BY 



FRANK LEE BENEDICT 



" I seek only 
That which all seek, some human sympathy 
In this mysterious island." 



NEW YORK 
J.S. JIEDFIELD, 34 BEEKMAN STREET 

185 7 



' .^-'^ 



/. 







V 



b 



Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1866, by 

J. S. REDFIELD, 

in t e Clerk's Olfice of tlie District Court of the United States, for the 
Southern District of New York. 



P BI NTED B T 

JSlitDarU ©. 3enkin», 

88 Frankfort St., N. Y. 



I gcbicate l^is hook 



TO MY PARENTS ON EARTH 



MY SISTER I N HEAVEN, 



Florence, Italy, 1856. 



PREFACE. 

Without for a moment fancying that any endorsement is 
necessary for the poems contained in this volume, or dream- 
ing that mine would be important if it were, I am about to 
assume, perhaps on my own acquaintance with the public, to 
introduce a new aspirant for its favors. 

Some five or six years ago Peterson's Ladies' National 
Magazine, of which I was co-editor, became the recipient of 
several poems and stories sent anonymous, which not only 
attracted our attention but became exceedingly popular 
among a large class of intelligent readers. There was some- 
thing fresh and original in these papers in strong contrast 
with the majority of communications with which our period- 
icals are inundated. They wanted finish and that compact- 
ness of construction which is the art of literature, but natu- 
ral vigor and high imagination was there, and for some two 
or three years the articles that came to our pages from this 
source were considered among the gems of the magazine. 

(V) 



VI PEEFACE. 

It is seldom that an editor is troubled with much curiosity 
about contributors, but in this instance some pains were 
taken to trace out the author of these sketches, because 
they held forth a promise of future literary strength worth 
regarding, and possessed proofs of imagination, erratic and 
untamed, but of no ordinary power. 

Our enquiries resulted somewhat to our surprise, when it was 
ascertained that the author of these sketches was a mere lad, 
not over sixteen years of age, whose home was in the Wyom- 
ing Yalley, and whose tastes for literature had thus early led 
him into print, unknown, even to his nearest friends. But 
there is nothing in precocious genius to admire. The pro- 
ductions of this youth gave no evidence of this unhealthy 
state of mind, they were too irregular and impulsive for that, 
but they gave ample proofs of original thought struggling to 
find that perfect utterance which study and practice alone can 
give, and from month to month we watched with no usual 
interest, the development of a talent that established its health- 
fulness by improving step by step with his years. 

More than two years ago his usual contributions were 
missed from our pages, and upon enquiry it was ascertained 
that the young author had gone abroad, and after making 
the usual European tour, was alternating his residence be- 
tween Rome and Florence. 



PEEFACE. Vll 

A few months since he returned, and in his father's residence 
in the Valley of Wyoming, gathered up the scattered poems 
which had naturally sprung out from a rapidly-developing 
mind in his travels among the ruins of the Old World, with 
that desire for publicity which follows an original thought* 
just as naturally as a rosebud thirsts for the sunbeams which 
will unclose one by one the blushing leaves in its folded 
heart. It is the natural wish of a painter to have his pic- 
tures seen, and just as natural is it, that the poet should be 
in haste to place his pen sketches in the galleries of human 
appreciation. If these poems are imperfect it is the inevita- 
ble result of inexperience, it is a want of art rather than a 
want of that genius which in the end controls art. If it is 
objected that they are put before the world too soon ; on the 
same principle all Raphael's early pictures, which were at 
first only rich in a great promise, should be swept away from 
the galleries they adorn. 

The author of these poems is but just of legal age ; his 
literary studies have been the promptings of his own mind, 
carried on in the early part in secresy, and unaided at any 
time either by literary friendships or example. Even his 
name is now introduced to the public for the first time, and 
that rather under advice than from his own wish. 



\ail PREFACE. 

If, in a kindly desire to present him to the public, anything 
like assumption on my part is presumed, 1 only hope this 
fault will be as gently handled by the critics as my other im- 
perfections have been ; and that, in this respect, the author 
of these poems wiU have as much cause for gratitude as 
America has always given me. 

ANN S. STEPHENS. 



THE SHADOW WOESHIPEK 



fart |. 
SCENE I. 

AN ANCIENT ROOM — SUNSET. 

Arnold and the Boy. 

ARNOLD. 

Draw back the curtain, Boy. 

BOY. 

The Sun is set ; 
Yet no ! he rouses from that passing trance, 
And will not yield him to the hungry clouds 
That compass him about with greedy eyes. 
Great shores of gold are in the widening West, 
The glimpses of a continent unseen, 



10 THE SHADOW WOESHIPER. 

Whose seas roll crimson to the Far Beyond, 
And swell the tide to broad Eternity. 

ARNOLD. 

How often I have watched the Sun die out, 
With warrior-fierceness to the very last, 
Trailing his garments with a regal pride, 
A golden radiance on his pallid brow. 
And mists of purple dimness wreathed above ; 
The herd of clouds that once a servile throng. 
Pressed back to spread his mantle o'er the earth. 
Now rush like ravening wolves upon his couch. 
And feast their gaze upon his dying throes. 
It is the fate of Greatness, gentle Boy! 
String me some pretty morals on the theme. 

BOY. 

I have no quaint conceits, such as you clasp, 
Like pearls upon the bracelet of your speech. 
IVe known you gild a common Summer day 
As thick with similes as the sky with stars, 



THE SHADOW WOESHIPER. H 

And on it think no more than stars of shining, — 
But now our sky grows dim ; the Sun is gone. 

ARNOLD. 

And sexton Twilight comes to bury Day. 

He spreads a pall fantastic o'er the dead, 

And summons out the stars to mourn her funeral. 

The glory dies along that distant verge, 

And these same stars come forth with jeweled 

brows. 
How can they paint Aurora's child a king ? 
It is the tale of Clytie and the Sun : 
His kisses warm her pale cheek into red, 
And while the hours flee on with rainbow gauds, 
Her brow at first so white beneath its crown, 
Is flushed with strange, unnatural crimson. 
She doffs the bashfulness of early morn 
Tliat made her hide reluctant 'ncath the clouds, 
And, baring to his gaze her heaving breast, 
She clasps him to her passionate bosom. 



12 THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 

Her breath comes hot, she pours her treasures out, 
And fam would melt the globe as one vast pearl, 
And give it him to quaif. 

BOY. 

What strange conceits ! 

ARNOLD. 

Wit did not teach such gifts, but weariness. 

BOY. 

How would you paint the Night ? 

ARNOLD. 

A dusk- eyed Youth 
That loved the Day, and comes in search of her ; 
Sending his watchful stars to hunt the world. 
And bring him tidings of her whereabouts. 

BOY. 

I cannot see why change the course of things, 
And make the Day a queen, and the calm Night 
A youth grown pale with watching for his love. 



THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 13 

ARNOLD. 

Because Diana was a woman, Boy ! 

Be sure Diana ne'er had loved the Night, 

Had not the Night been young Endymion. 

BOY. 

I watched her stealing o'er the hill last eve ; 
But if your creed be sooth, he mourned the Day, 
And strove, the infidel ! to distance her ; 
For swift as Dian with her courtiers trode, 
Pale 'neath her anguish down the Western sky, 
Night from her presence in his anger fled, 
And left her lone in sad magnificence. 
She leaned her forehead 'gainst a heap of clouds. 
As if it pained her 'neath its jeweled weight, 
While all the stars stood round with wondering 

eyes. 
To see a queen quake like a peasant girl. 

ARNOLD. 

Thy fancy hath out-distanced mine ! Good night. 



14 THE SHADOW WOKSHIPER. 

BOY. 
Some say that he is mad, and some a poet ; 
But he is mournful, and I pity him. 

\Exit.] 



THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 15 



SCENK II. 
ARNOLD'S CHAMBER — TIME, MIDNIO-HT. 

Arnold, alone, standing at a window. 
The moon is up ; a few stars watch the Night, 
To see he follow not the love-sick queen 
Who holds her tempting shoulder out in play. 
Be earnest in the pretty sport, Night ; 
Press close upon her though she be so coy, 
Bring clouds like blots above her innocence — 
The practised way of this old world, brave Night ! 
How oft such wearing vigils have I kept, 
While every star held out a flaming torch 
By whose pale light I saw my wretchedness. 
My life hath been a fever of dull pain, 
And I the maddest of those striving souls 
Who fling their peace away and woo a fiend. 



16 THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 

My childhood passed in dim, foreboding dreams, 
And when I put Youth's glowing mantle oh, 
It fell around me like a burning pain. 
My hopes arose like eagles to the clouds, 
I built me up proud palaces of Joy, 
And lit their splendor with my visions' blaze ; 
I drank from every goblet Pleasure gave, 
Where bubbles foamed like gems on sea-nymphs' 

brows ; 
I tried all things and found all w4:iolly vain, 
And yet the shape that lured is not appeased. 
All, all, this course of sin, this flight of Thought, 
Like meteors through the chaos of the Mind, 
Came from stern struggles for a being lost, 
From consciousness of life in other worlds. 
Existence on my soul was forced, not sought, 
Has never had nor does deserve my thanks. 
I know not where my former home hath been ; 
There is a star whose gleams burn in my heart, 
I deem the planet of my destiny. 



THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 17 

I've called the winds of midnight up for speech, 
Howled unto the silent grave for knowledge, 
And been the slave of suffering but in vain. 
The skies are mute, that star a ruined world. 
And when its dissolution's giant throes 
Broke through the realms of space illimitable. 
My soul was stranded on this lurid shore. 
And left to suffer for those myriads lost. 

Vague shapes rise disconnected 'mid the gloom, 

Pale ghosts like those that roam on Lethe's shore ; 

Sometimes they hush themselves to rest, and then, 

I think to hear a plunge beneath the wave, 

But while I look they rouse them from that trance, 

And come to walk with me again. ^ ^^ ^ 

Those phantoms gather in the sudden gloom, 

That star bends nearer and those white lips smile. 

While voices mutter wildly in mine ear. 

As when I lay upon that fever-couch, 

And rode upon the wings of madness — off I 



18 THE SHADOW WORSHIPEE. 

They shall not thus unman me ; I am strong, 
And will not yield me to the fearful spell. 
They closer come — there is no moon — no stars — 
That ruined world gleams spectral on my sight, 
And swings in flame. My brain — my brain — 'tis 
crushed! 

[All's OLD falls senseless.] 



THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 19 



SCENE III. 

THE SAME— TIME, SUNRISE. 

Arnold and the Boy. 

Arnold lies on a couch. 
Boy, what is the hour ? 

BOY. 

Morning yet is young ; 
The Sun just rising from a rosy bed, 
While clouds stand round as beautiful as dreams, 
And blush as if ashamed to meet the day. 
This world is glorious — almost like Heaven ! 
Sometimes I hear the waiting seraphs sing, 
And do but listen that you may hear them too. 
Up goes the Sun ; the waiting clouds fall back, 
And spread their pinions for the Eastward flight ; 
The sky one curtain vast of blue and gold, 



20 THE vSHADOW WORSHIPEE. 

Floats down o'er pillared stairs, where angels 

tread, 
And flash their brightness on this lower world. 

ARXOLD. 

0, dreaming Boy ! thou art all poetry ; 
Thou wert the child of Music and the Morn. 

BOY. 

If so. I had at least good parentage ! 
But tell me, are you better since last eve ? 

ARNOLD. 

Have I been ill ? I do remember now ; 
And yet its fever seems no more unreal 
Than all this loathsome life's wild fantasies. 
My soul within this watch has been afar ; 
I have bestrode the nightmare of a dream, 
And rode upon its wings through earth and hell ; 
Have looked on sights to make a demon quail, 
And then some form of mystic loveliness, 



THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 21 

Rushed by intoxicate with pleasure's draught, 

And smoothed the crisping tissues of my brain. 

Sleep stood aloof with finger on her lip, 

And dropped her balm on every heart but mine ; 

And when from importunity she came, 

She held a brace of visions in her hand, 

And shook them threatening at my pillow. 

The hours rushed shrieking on with hair disheveled, 

And moaning wails and sobbing rain of tears. 

The elements were all at war with earth, 

And thunders shook it to the very base. 

The dead awoke, caught up their mouldering 

shrouds, 
And burst their coffin lids with bony hands, 
And scared the earth again. Men died around ; 
And puny infants waxed to giant might, 
Throttling the very sires that gave them life. 
Fools grasped at sceptres, idiots grinned on 

thrones ; 
Men caught whole empires in their Titan grasp, 



22 THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 

And hurled them into sudden nothingness, 
And all was desolation and a wreck, 
And I the ruling" minister of ill. 

Then comes a blank, where memory is mute ; 
My soul reviewed its vanished home, perchance, 
And trod the ashes of a desert world. 
But when the second vision on me burst. 
The earth entire was one vast charnel-house, 
And I the burier of all its dead. 
Corpses in ghastly heaps where'er I turned ; 
They spoke, they grinned, they rotted, and they 

crawled, 
And loathsome things crept in and out the bones. 
And pressed their festering kisses on my hands. 
I dug the graves within that fearful watch. 
But when I sought to lay the dead therein, 
They crumbled dust-like in my loathing touch, 
And glued themselves to earth and deathliness ; 
And when I'd flung the vile heaps in the ground, 
They broke the clay, and all began again. 



THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 23 

I toiled, and sickened ; the only living thing, 
Except the worms, that kept me company. 
It passed at length, I could endure no more ; 
And Sleep called off her twin delirium dogs, 
And left me spent upon my pillow. 

BOY. 

How gladly must you waken to the Sun, 
And come to life once more. 

ARNOLD. 

I have no Sun ; 
The Morning ne'er will break upon me here ; 
A sable curtain is around my soul, 
And Grief has like the lightning pierced it through, 
Keality is more hideous than those dreams. 

BOY. 

Awake ! The arch of heaven is grand with day ; 
The Sun has roused his brightest glories up. 
And all the stars, if melted into one, 



24 THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 

Could never mock this glow within the room. 
'Tis Summer's birthmorn ; Spring died yesterday. 

ARNOLD. 

Poor fool ! she loved the fickle Earth too well, 
And bloomed herself to death to win a smile ; 
And Nature laughing o'er a new-born child, 
Has quite forgot to give the corse a tomb. 
The dame will weary of this bantling soon, 
So woo the light to kiss her to the grave ; 
And then bear Autumn with her golden hair ; 
Then she and Time will have another incest, 
And bring forth icy Winter. 

BOY. 

Bitter thought ! 
To me it seems the Spring is Summer's mother ; 
She, making all things ready for her child, 
Lies gladly down, and yields her span of life, 
To leave the earth a goodly heritage. 



THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 25 

ARNOLD. 

My thought looks noisome by the side of thino ! 
Ah, simny-hearted child, I see the gleam 
Of cherub-pinions 'mid thy radiant hair ; 
For thou hast been a gentle teacher, Boy ; 
Whence come such subtile lessons in the heart ? 
I am reproved before thy purity. 

BOY. 

I make thee glad ? Then let me see thee smile ; 
Because each smile we bring to others' lips, 
The unseen watchers gather as our own, 
And weave them into garlands for our crown, 

ARNOLD. 

I'll smile until they weary twining them ; 
There shall be few in heaven with crowns like 
thine. 

BOY. 

Why wilt thou not go forth' from this dull haunt ? 
These heavy curtains cast a pall-like gloom, 
The shadows lie so deep, I freeze therein. 



26 THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 

I know of sunny dingles, fair to see, 

And breezy meadows where the violets grow, 

And singing brooks whose every tone shall chase 

Some heart-grief. Come, and I will be thy guide ! 

We'll sit and let the pleasant sounds creep by, 

Until our souls all full with calm content. 

Shall blossom like the flowers. The world is fair, 

And I shall force thee to acknowledge it. 

The sighing wind hath stores of healing balm, 

The twittering birch leaves melodies of joy, 

And aught that lives its meed of happiness. 

ARNOLD. 

And I had mine, perchance, but wasted it. 

BOY. 

Thou'lt find it in the woods, if anywhere — 
Earth flings her treasures in the forest's lap ; 
We'll ask the speaking fays, if they have seen it. 
Come to the woods and wait — I know their haunts : 



THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 27 

And when we see the sunbeams stealing down — 
The only shade their elvan footsteps cast, — 
We'll kneel and say, " Give back our happiness." 
Wilt go ? 

ARNOLD. 

With thee to point me out the way. 

BOY. 

Look through the casement on that pine-crowned 

hill, 
Whose winding paths are bathed so deep in light, 
The haunted forest just beyond it lies. 

ARNOLD. 

What ! would'st thou treat me to a ghost tale, 

then ? 
In faith thou look'st not like a seer. 



28 THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 

BOY, sings softly. 
I. 
Haunted with holy things, 

Haunted with sweet ; 
Haunted with Nature's tones, 

Nature's still feet. 
Haunted with holy thoughts, 

Brighter than day ; • 
Like the touch of an angel. 

They brush grief away. 

II. 
Haunted with gentle dreams, 

That there have slept ; 
From the heart of Eve-mother, 

Like sunbeams they've crept. 
She went up to heaven, 

And left them behind, 
A prize for her children, 

Who search them shall find. ■ 



THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 29 



SCENE IV. 
A F O RE S T: — S UN S E T. 

Arnold aiid the Boy. 

Boy, seated, weaving a wreath. 
Look now, my garland's done ; I'll weave no more. 



White as the wild-wood blossoms that they twined, 
Those fingers have been ilying in and out, 
Like butterflies that kiss in May-buds hearts. 
I love to see them at this dainty work. 

BOY. 

They so love to do it ! Is't not pleasant now ? 
This kissing wind hath given thee a color ; 
Thy cheeks are tell-tales, like these roses here. 



30 THE SHADOW WOKSHIPEE. 

I said that we should fill with calm content, 

As flowers with the dew ! But the light is going. 

ARNOLD. 

I see a bright thought in those beaming eyes. 

BOY. 

Day goes to whisper at the gates of Bliss, 
And give what she may have to give of hope. 
Mark how her garments stream along the vault, 
And thou shalt see ere she is wholly gone 
Their edge is bound with stars. Send up a prayer; 
Thou'lt find it afterward in Paradise. 
I pity those who never pray. 

ARNOLD. 

Strange boy, 
And why ? 

BOY. 

They'll be so much alone in Heaven ; 
For prayers are wings to bear us softly up 



THE SHADOW WOKSHIPER. 31 

To the Eternal Gates, and taking hues 

Too bright for earth, be first to greet us there. 

The day is almost gone. 

ARNOLD. 

And night comes on, 
To cloak the guilt of man's excess. 

BOY. 

Be still I 
No word of bitterness in such an hour ; 
The fairies do not like it, and I think 
Some spirit, too, is floating by — Lo you, 
That glorious sunbeam. 

ARNOLD. 

They're near thee ever ; 
For Heaven hath few such holy treasures, Boy, 
As thy young heart. 

BOY. 

The wind is growing chill, 
We must away. We'll seek this haunt again, 
I know it wins that sad heart from its woes. 



82 THE SHADOW WOESHIPEE. 

Arnold, pausing on the brow of the hill. 
A goodly scene ! The valley fair outstretched 
In many a wild and picturesque change 
Below the towering peaks that lock it in, 
Like offerings flung beneath a tyrant's feet. 
The hazy river winds its mist between, 
A bright isle dancing on its passive heave, 
Like some enchanted thing that's wandered far, 
And lost from Eastern realms in this bleak clime. 
Great belfs of trees shut out the restless world 
Beyond that mount which rises proudly up 
With a stern grandeur in its regal mien, 
As if it kept the lesser crags in awe. 
And made that vale its own sweet paramour. 
Dim groves where Indian maidens dreamed of yore. 
And pastures with the scent of clover there, 
And hamlets nestled in and out like doves, 
Make up a scene that's like Arcadia. . 
This haunt hath been for Dryads in old time, 



THE SHADOW WOKSHIPER. 83 

And Fauns have danced within these woodland 

bowers. 
E'en Heaven itself bends near this greenwood dell, 
That seems as if it had been hollowed out 
To make a cup for Pan. Here should be calm ; 
And here methinks this weary heart might rest, 
If but the valley clods lay over it. 
Ah, happy child, that this has been thy home ; 
No marvel if such purity 's within. 
For, this thy dwelling-place, is near to Heaven. 
Men here should have no petty thoughts and aims, 
Like pent-up dwellers of great towns below ; 
Their souls should catch a hue from this fair spot, 
And swell with greatness far beyond their clay. 

BOY. 

See how the moonbeams play upon that cross, 

And gild it with their kisses. We are near, 

Shall we go in and bov/ before the shrine — 

The Holy Mary's ? 
2 



34 THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 

ARNOLD. 

I can worship here ; 
It needs no priest between the sonl and God. 

BOY. 

See how those shrouded forms steal slowly on ; 
They look within the churchyard-dim like ghosts 
Unquiet thoughts have startled from their rest. 

ARNOLD. 

By this strange thrill a spirit passes near 
That has a secret sympathy with mine. 
Thine eyes are like young eagles', look again, 
And see that shape which treads behind the throng 
With more than human majesty and pride. 

BOY. 

Ay, it is she — the stranger of the isle ; 
She wears the likeness of an Eastern queen. 

ARNOLD. 

Which in the gleaming row of purpled dolls ? 



THE SHADOW WOKSHIPER. 35 

BOY. 
Palmyra's lioii-liearted child that trode 
A queen, though sceptreless, behind her foe. 
Her forehead hath the arch of royalty ; 
If Night himself had wove her plume-like hair, 
'Twere not more ebon, and the orbs beneath 
Might govern worlds with but a single glance ; 
Yet moves she with a dreamy, thoughtful air, 
As she had lost her soul and come to search it. 
I know that she has roved from some far clime. 
And pineth here companionless and lone, 
Her eyes all melancholy, her lips all pride. 
Perhaps she was a Pleiad like the lost. 
And loved a son of clay, gave for his sake 
The heritage of Heaven. The mortal stole 
Her radiant plumage once upon a time. 
So flew away and ne'er came back again. 

ARNOLD. 

Speak on ! those lips drop manna on my soul ; 



36 THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 

If that which I have seen while thou didst talk, 
Be dajdig-ht and no dream, thou art my saviour. 

BOY. 

I know no more of her than I have said ; 

If thou wouldst have an earthly simile, 

A queen, if more, of unknown worlds the empress. 

This haunt hath lured her steps as it did thine, — 

Adown the valley's sweep behold her home. 

ARNOLD. 

tell me more of her ; mimic her words. 
Describe her air, her voice, her height, her mien I 
Speak quick ; be not a miser of thy words. 

BOY. 

Why, what tarantula hath stung thee now ? 

1 am no exorcist. 

ARNOLD. 

Tiny-lived thing, 
Thou canst not know the tempest thou hast 
raised : 



THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 87 

Thou art like a child that handled thunderbolts 
And deemed them playthings. Stay that careless 

hand, 
Lest in the sport it dash a world to ruin. 

BOY. 

I'd like the feel of those stern ministers, 

But fate is not in human hands ; so well. 

For we should mar the harmony of things. 

And so break through the even course of spheres. 

Celestial Jove could ne'er build up again. 

ARNOLD. 

Dare not the clouds like some erratic comet, 
Come down to lesser music than the spheres, 
I like thee not in mctaph^^sics, Boy, 
Now for thy liege, the new Zenobia. 

BOY. 

Thy speech is like a ring\ its endings meet. 



38 THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 

ARNOLD. 

Be thou the voyager to journey round, 
But in the fashion of these modern times, 
Speed on thy journey, for I burn to hear. 

BOY. 

Her favorite haunt that isle the lulling waves 
Bear up as if an infant on their breast ; 
She whiles the hours away from morn to eve 
And lets the moon glide down and find her there. 
I think she and the Night have mysteries ; 
She sitteth like Egeria in her grot, 
And he steals unto her, another Numa. 
'Tis at the isle's extreme where willow trees 
Like fountains'-spray droop down their waving 

plumes. 
And silvery birch exulting in their strength, 
And giant oaks and sycamores stand round, 
Like ghosts of sentinels that watched the spot, 
When in this vale War stayed his chariot-wheels. 



THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 39 

A wild path 'neath the tangled willows leads, 

Where mosaics rare of many-colored sands 

Make flooring fit for Neptune's palaces. 

The waves creep on enamored of the dell, 

The very winds sleep on its scented breast, 

Too indolent to sing ; the tnrf is smooth 

As elf-sprites there had flung their choicest woofs, 

And lay discoursing like our gossip dames. 

Come let us listen to their rare conceits, 

Glean knowledge philosophers have toiled to learn. 

These ministers of earth are kind to teach. 

If we but paused amid the world to hear. 

But by its singing we could name each star. 

And hPove the Hours bend round us like young 

maids ; 
But our chained souls grope lowly in the dust. 
And stain their robes too thick with mud to soar. 
But will you in now, for it waxes late. 
The very stars are laughing at our folly. 



40 THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 

ARNOLD. 

A blessed chance hath brought me here, fair child, 
And thou shalt lead me to another life. 
Grood night, my callow seraph. 



THE SHADOW WOESHIPER. 41 



SCENE V. 
THE ISLAND . 

ARNOLD lying on a green bank. 

This is the spot ! No wonder that she loves 

The greenwood haunt ; some muse hath done so 

too. 

Just such a dell as this where Venus led 

The youth Anchises to a nuptial couch. 

Lo she comes ! [alethe approaches.] 

Brighter far than day she breaks upon me, 

It is the very likeness of my dream ; 

My fingers know those silken tresses feel, 

M}^ mouth those rich lips virgin taste ; 

Those eyes have looked into my soul ere now. 

And read its thoughts as schoolmen read a book. 

I know that we have met and loved before 

In some far world of which this is the shadow ; 
2* 



42 THE SHADOW WOKSHIPER. 

Have stood together on the verge of stars, 
And looked adown the mysteries of Hades, 
Througli orbs to which this eartli the threshold is ; 
Though we have lost the wings that bore us on, 
And may not pass tlie starry gates again, 
Save through the gloomy portals of the grave 
Which hem the narrow bounds of mortals here. 

[alethe starts hacli, and then approaches.] 
I deemed the spot Calypso's isle, and lo, 
The nymph. 

ALETHE. 

A very poet, by this liglit ! 
I know thee, thou art Sir Melancholy, 
That chants strange dirges fit for requiems. 
And those eyes are sad as funeral torches. 

ARNOLD. 

But at your bidding I will change my mien. 
And be Telemachus unto your nymphship. 



THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 43 

ALETHE. 

And who shall be the Mentor — Fate ? 

ARNOLD. 

Not so! 
We'll force her eyes to close and have no Mentor. 

ALETHE. 

How much I like thy plan ; 'tis bold enough 
To be the scheming of a mad man's brain. 
But how begin ? An epic hath a prologue, 
Running through a book of storm and tempest. 

ARNOLD. 

The storms have passed, the Heavens now are 
clear. 

ALETHE. 

Then live the dream in which Titania sports : 
This grot is mine, a bright, enchanted isle. 
That magic arts have moored beneath these hills. 
What dost thou, mortal, in this fairy haunt ? 



44 THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 

ARNOLD, [Imeelwg.] 
Behold the veriest slave wHhiii thy realm, 
Who kneels in deep submission at thy feet. 

ALETHE. 

Where there be sundry scores of snails and drones. 
With other things that love a sluggish life ; 
And now I look, there goes a lady-bird. 
Poising its wings as if it loved to live. 

ARNOLD. 

My soul has flung its wings beneath thy feet ; 
Be merciful, and do not tread on them. 

ALETHE. 

Not I ! but lay them on the topmost shelf 
AVithin my cabinet, they are gossamer — 
All poet's wings are such. But now thy tale. 

ARNOLD. 

It is already told, and for the Past, 
It were a dream unprofitable to hear ; 



THE SHADOW WOESHIPER. 45 

I'd rather warm me in the sunshine now, 
And whisper of the thing I shall become. 

ALETHE. 

Time shall chronicle it most faithfully, 
So spare thyself the pain. But here I stand, 
And string my homilies without a text — 
Art thou a poet and hast none to give ? 

ARNOLD. 

If I may speak. 

ALETHE. 

Those eyes look treacherous now ; 
Be mute, and list this gallant butterfly, 
A true court-messenger from Fairy-land. 

ARNOLD. 

I am in Fairy-land, so will not heed. 
While I am free to gaze upon that face, 
And con its mysteries. 



46 THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 

ALETHE. 

What readest thou there ? 

ARNOLD. 

Familiar uuto painfulness its secrets are, 

They sting my soul with oklen memories. 

For I have sunned me in that smile before, 

The beams of those dear eyes have in my spirit 

lain, 
And spring from their captivity to meet 
Their sisterhood of glances. 

ALETHE. 

Cease, I pray, 
Lest I float from thee on this sparkling stream 
Of flatteries. Come, we'll be an hour gay. 
And seek us out the fairies emerald ring. 
But when upon that rock the errant Sun 
Shall kiss his last adieu then kiss again, 
As lovers turn a hundred times to go. 



THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 47 

And still a hundred other times returu, 

To add a parting word they think forgot, 

But which resolves itself into a sigh 

That lets the heart out better far than speech, 

Then will we sit and talk of sterner things. 

ARNOLD. 

Give me thy hand ; I'll borrow for this time 
The gilded pinions of yon butterfly. 

ALETHE. 

The plumage of this lady-bird be mine, 
So trip it to the low wind's measure — on ! 
I'd sing, but with this piping breeze in tunc, 
My voice would sound too sharp. 

Now note the time ! 
The Sun just lingers o'er the blushing peak. 
He is so loath to go ; mark you those kisses ? 

ARNOLD. 

I do not like to look at sights like that ; 

I am envious of others' happiness ; 

I have it in my reach and dare not grasp. 



48 THE SHADOAV WORSHIPER. 

ALETIIE. 

The wind plays faint like an old minstrel tired, 
And look at that poor rock so cold and lone — 
I pity it. 

ARXOLD. 

Thy pity has no price ! 
It has been loved — it needs no other boon. 
Amid the gulfs of Poom thou'lt find one soul 
More wretched than the rest — it ne'er was loved ! 
In all Eternity's drear pulseless hush, 
There is no destiny that's such a curse. 

ALETHE. 

End we our revels with that lonesome thought ; 
Sit down with me upon this mossy bank, 
And let the twilight shroud that lofty brow, 
Which seems the temple-home of gorgeous dreams. 
I lack a name by which to call thee ? 

ARNOLD. 

x\rnold. 



THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 49 

ALETHE. 

Musical and sweet, we'll add a title, 
For this empery of ours must have its lords ; 
So kneel and take thine honors at our hands — 
Henceforth in this good realm, thou art Count 
Arnold. 

ARNOLD, [kneeling.] 
The very proudest king in Christendom 
Could not so honor me as thou hast done ; 
V\l kiss allegiance on that rose-tinged hand, 

ALETHE. 

The humblest of my subjects ! Wouldst thou 
dare ? 

ARNOLD. 

With but the touch of it I should go mad, 
And in my fit dash down the world of joy, 
The last day's heavy laden round hath built. 
Angels have each a name, and which is thine? 



50 THE SHADOW WOKSHIPER. 

ALETIIE. 

Call mc Alctlie, its cadence suits this time. 

ARNOLD. 

The name be of thy choosing ; I could speak 
Such passionate poesies, if I dare, 
That Night would fairly startle at the flash, 
And stay his tread, thinking the Day had waked. 

ALETHE. 

Whither is gone thy passing joyousness ? 
Alas, the butterfly has claimed its wings. 
I said we'd talk on sterner themes, but if 
They move thee tlius, we'll back to gaiety. 
What of the life that's spent ? 

ARNOLD. 

I have had none, 
Save in a world above this cloud-wrapped earth. 
Strange gleams of an existence that is gone, 



THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 51 

Have haunted mc as fever visions do 

A sick man's couch, and sometimes in their pomp, 

Scenes from that far-off home my hand could 

paint, 
They burst in such magnificence upon me. 
Rare palaces, like nought on earth, are there. 
With gardens like the bowers young Adam loved ; 
The high-arched heavens bending grand o'er all, 
Not misty with a wrapping of blue clouds, 
But in the glory of their presence bared. 
A face is with me like a dream of hope, 
A face that wears thy likeness I We twain stand 
Upon the threshold of that upper world. 
And gaze with dread on dazzling heights above, 
Some with a fadeless rose-tint on their sides. 
And some with awful whiteness girt about 
Like shadows from the great Eternal's throne. 
The stranded gulf of fire boils up* below ; 
Great jets of flame shoot up like monstrous tower 
And lurid blazes spread away as clouds. 



52 THE SHADOW WORSHIPEK. 

Beyond there is destruction and a wreck : 
That perfect world is peopled with the dead, 
And thou and I alone within that orb 
Which has become a waste. Then looms a blank, 
And coward Memory will answer nought. 
I woke to consciousness upon this earth, 
Unlike the race whose semblance I have worn. 
Since then, I have been mad with many ills, 
And cannot name the worst ; have roved the 

world, • 

And walked the earth in pain from zone to zone. 
I am so young ; a score of Summers lie 
With all their rosy circlets on my brow, 
But every bud had withered ere it bloomed. 



Thy words have wakened all my wretchedness ; 
I rouse as fr©m a trance ; thy tones were sweet 
As whisperings from above. 



THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 53 

ARNOLD. 

Thou, too, hast known 
The same wild longings, and the same mad want; 
Hast felt the sum of ills that make my curse ? 

ALETHE. 

I, too, have loved the Unattainable ! 

Have worn my life away in one vain dream, 

And put the man-god's poisoned mantle on. 

So wear his added woes abo^e mine own. 

We were so gay one little hour since ; 

Why hast thou roused these demons of the mind, 

That we are powerless to exorcise. 

Call up thy smiles, we'll back to gaiety. 

ARNOLD. 

Whate'er thou wilt, I can but follow thee. 

ALETHE. 

I fain would have another elvan bout. 

But yield to lesser fays. Night steals along, 



54 THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 

And eyes us both askance — miscliievoiis Night! 

That cheek is pale, thou art not for these vigils. 

Dismiss our court, Sir Herald now ; I mean, 

Bid you that glow-worm put his lantern in ; 

He is the little type of little men, 

And thinks his blaze illuminates a world, 

Burning his petty inch as proud as they 

Their rush-lights do. Now thou and I must part. 

ARNOLD. 

What, dash this brilliant world to dust, and grope 
Amid a gloom grown deeper than before ? 

ALETHE. • 

No ! live in the great palace of thy dreams, 

Until we meet again. I summon thee 

To oft appear at this our court, take heed ! 

I must not grow awear}^ of thy loss. 

And come with no fixed mood, I hate all rules ! 

Prepare to do my bidding ; be a fay,- 



THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 65 

A butterfly, or what I will. Again, 
Good niglit, fair Count Arnold. 

ARNOLD. 

A thousand times 
Farewell ! Thou goest, but thine image rests, — 
I linger here, but all my heart has fled ; 
I count no hours until the morrow's dawn. 
There is but leaden heaviness and pain. 
My soul has tears, but not a word to give. 
Thy lips have smiles, and hold them back. 

Farewell ! 
I've learned the sadness in that word to-night. 



56 THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 



SCENK VI. 
ARNOLD'S CHAMBER. 

Arnold and the Boy. 
ARNOLD enters. 
My Boy, what brings thee here at such an hour ? 
Why, summery thing, sweet music's own, awake ! 
I thought thou wert in Elf-land ere this time. 
Had oped the gate of dreams, and dwelt with 

fays. 
My little sunbeam up ; thy count is lost ; 
Thou shouldst but shine when Day is beautiful. 

BOY. 

Chide not ; I am so sad, and thou art sad. 
And so I came that we might join our griefs. 

ARNOLD. 

Thou sad, the term's a contradiction, Boy ! 
Thou and the traitor Grief could ne'er be joined ; 



THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 57 

The poles, with this great bantling Earth be- 
tween, 
Are not more widely separate. Tell thy woe ? 
Did not thy roses open to the morn. 
Or has a crimson blossom lost its red ? 
Thou'st lipped it, truant, till its scent and hue 
Sit kissing on those humid lips of thine. 



BOY. 

I have not looked on aught that's bright this day ; 
0, sir, a pallid ghost has walked with me, 
And locked my hand in his, nor let it go. 
My only pet — the snowy fawn — is dead. 

ARNOLD. 

Hath Death the heart to crave thy treasures, Boyl 

Thou and thy fawn were twins in innocence ; 

So oft I've watched your gambols 'neath the hill. 

Poor little bud, it is thy dawn of woe, 
8 



68 THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 

Thy dismal waking to the fearful woe, 
That thou art only mortal like the rest. 
And thou wilt live to bury all thy fawns, 
For holy thoughts are thus best symboled ; 
Beside their graves thou'lt think upon these tears, 
And pray again to shed them, but in vain. 

BOY. 

Its large brown eyes were such deep wells of love ; 
They whispered of the forest dells and glades, 
And I could scent the forest-buds and flowers 
Whene'er I looked within. It loved the Sun ; 
I hate to have it put beneath the ground ; 
I have no mate — I ne'er shall play again. 
There was a language in those eyes I read, 
More sweet because it spoke with me alone. 

ARNOLD. 

Mine artless child, thine elegy is grand ! 
Sleep in my arms and weave a knot of dreams, 



THE SHADOW WOKSHIPER. 59 

I'll fling the garland 'neath the feet of one 
Whose favorite food hath been such lotus 
draughts. 

BOY. 

Soothe me with visions, such as thou canst chain, 
And sleep upon their sunny wings will come 
To the soft wooings of their rhymed music. 

ARNOLD. 

I have drained my story-casket, Boy, 

And thou hast conned its choicest treasures o'er. 

But if thou wilt, look 'neath the lid again. 

I know a mystic legend, wild and drear, 

Shall soothe thy grief from its strange fearful- 

ness — 
The romance of the student Arenon. 

BOY. 

The very name hath mystic meaning in't ; 



60 THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 

I am oppressed as wlien the air sinks down, 
And gives ns token of the eoming* storm. 



He had watehed within liis eliamber, 

Till the morning- stars grew dim. 
He had watelied. and he \vdd waited, 

For sleep was not with him. 
The Student Arenon was weary, 

The Student Arenon was sad. 
For much of poring ov(M' tomes 

Had made him ahnost mad. 
There was no color on his cheek, 

No brightness in his eyes ; 
They were as dull as stagnant pools. 

Where sunshine never lies. 
His trembling hands had grown so thin, 

That you could see between ; 



THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 61 

0, there was little left to please 

In the Student's careworn mien. 
He had lived within his chamber, 

Had fed upon its rust, 
Till his brow was full of wrinkles,. 

His mantle full of dust. 
He had conned forbidden books, 

Had learned mysterious lore : 
Life's innocence and purity 

Were gone forever more. 
His nails had grown like talons long. 

His locks were thin and gray ; 
And worse than all, the Student grim. 

Had quite forgot to pray. 
He knew the spell to conjure up 

The blackest fiend that is, 
And every ill that wisdom heaps, 

He claimed to be all his. 
He never loved a living thing, 

Nor living thing loved him ; 



62 THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 

The stars at eve looked never bright, 

His sight had grown so dim. 
His fingers clasped the mighty tomes 

That were so black and quaint, 
And such a sight he grew to be. 

No human tongue could paint. 
He sometimes heard the church-bells ring, 

And wondered what it meant, 
It was so long to mass or prayer, 

Since he, the sinner, went. 
Men shuddered but to speak his name. 

And quaked to pass the door. 
And never living thing went through 

The dust his threshold o'er. 
And mothers oft, to still a child. 

Would speak his name but low, 
Then glance around in fear and dread, 

If he were near to know. 
0, I might talk a twelvemonth yet. 

And never tell a third, 



THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 63 

Of wondrous things that men had known, 

And more that they had heard. 
If but the wmd did hap to blow, 

They thought it was his frown ; 
And if a steeple chanced to fall. 

His nod had brought it down. 
They said that demons dwelt with him, 

And filled each vacant chair. 
And sure it was that mortal man 

Had never yet sat there. 
Sometimes they heard the rafters creak. 

As never rafters should ; 
The fiends had come to claim his soul. 

As come at length they would. 
But when they passed the house again. 

The lamp shone through, as then. 
And so the Student lived and toiled, 

A marvel unto men. 
Full threescore years, and even more, 

His weary race had run. 



64 THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 

And still the lamp burned fresh and red, 

As when it first begun. 
The sires that shuddered but to speak, 

And quaked to hear his name, 
Had lain themselves within the grave, 

Their children did the same. 
The infants waxed to tottering age, 

And pressed the funeral bier ; 
And still the Student lived and worked, 

As if no death were near. 
O God, it was a sight to see, 

That worn and hardened man, 
Whose life had w^andered through its course, 

And dwindled to a span ; 
So grim and gray, all bent with years, 

His fingers lean and cold. 
That never once at church or shrine. 

His aves or beads had told. 
Pale Death himself stood near and gazed, 

He could not look nor heed, 



THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 65 

But coldly motioned him away, 

He would not fill his meed. 
And Death would go and come again, 

But find him as before ; 
The self same aspect still was his, 

The self-same mantle wore. 
If that worn wretch had known a jest, 

He sure had spoke it then ; 
He heeded not the phantom more 

Than we do common men. 
His books had grown so old and black, 

He scarce could read therein, 
So he began the loathsome task 

To write their tales of sin. 
Death in a rage the great tomes seized, 

And flung them at the wight ; 
So thick and black with dust were they, 

They crumbled in their flight. 

The student sat unmoved and calm. 

And busy as before, 
8* 



6Q THE SHADOW WOKSHIPER. 

While stood the death-fiend grim and stern 

And eyed him evermore. 
He wrote and wrote, the night was dark, 

No stars were in the sky ; 
The student toiled amid the gloom, 

And Death stood laughing by. 
The rain sobbed past, scared by the sound, 

Fast fled its pattering feet. 
The air was full of worldly tears — 

They're harsh and frozen sleet ! 
The lightnings played as if in sport, 

The thunders rocked the earth, 
The student heeded nothing more, 

Than sounds of glee and mirth. 
Death raised the wight and bound him fast, 

The victim could not stir ; 
He called a fearful demon up, 

To be his minister. 
When morning broke the storm was past, 

The winds their rage had spent ; 



THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 67 

And pale with fear and gossip tales, 

Men shuddering came and went. 
The lamp was out within that room, 

And it was seen no more ; 
The tranquil light shone in that cell, 

As ne'er it shone before. 
He vanished thus and left no trace 

Of sin or life behind ; 
They only saw a phantom face 

Pass wavering on the wind. 

Art sleeping, Boy ? thy very breath is hushed* 

BOY. 

I listen to the legend ; is that all ? 

ARNOLD. 

What wouldst thou have since fiends have claimed 

their own ? 
I think we're safe to leave him in their hands. 



68 THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 

BOY. 

He never prayed, thou may'st be sure of that ! 
Prayers lift the soul and fright the fiends below. 



THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 69 



SCENE VII. 

Arnold and Alethe. 

ARNOLD. 

What store of riches generous Nature hath, 
That all her lavish wealth is ne'er consumed. 

ALETHE. 

She sends each hour of these June days out 
Like gilded butterflies ; the very winds 
Have learned new melodies, whose flow will steal 
The inmost sweetness of young Summer's heart. 
I think that e'en the skies have grown more bright, 
That summer birds sing sweeter than of old, 
As if this quiet haunt were nearer peace 
Than that cold world without. 



70 THE SHADOW WOESHIPER. 

ARNOLD. 

It well may be ; 
The shades that angels seek are sanctified ; 
Thy presence brightens thus this charmed retreat. 

ALETHE. 

What talked we of anon ? 

ARNOLD. 

Of Eden's bliss. 

ALETHE. 

You jest. 

ARNOLD. 

At least 'twas of its bliss I thought, 
What other theme were worthy of the time ? 
Methinks that Eve was with the young Day born, 
That then had freshness on her crimson robes 
Which this stern chase of centuries has dimmed. 
How must her eyes have wandered from her bliss, 
That stood beside her in proud Adam's guise. 
To all the newness of that living dawn. 



THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 71 

How must the Hours have worshiped at her feet, 
Like willing vassals of a queen new crowned, 
And spent the richness of their dying breath 
With loud diapasons of joy. When Night came. 
How clung she trembling to the young world's 

king, 
As if in dread it were some ravisher. 
To drag her weeping from her consort's side. 
— 'Tis empty folly all ; I like it not, . 

Nor mimic weak men's credence e'en in jest. 
Nature and Eve are one — the indivisible ! 
She rests her forehead on the mountain peak. 
Folds up her hands along the vallies' brim. 
Her cloud-like tresses floating o'er her eyes^ 
Where all the secrets of a world are kept. 

Great mother, mysterious Agency ! 
To thee my boon of prayer I offer still, 
For I have loved thee^ Nature, 'mid the diil 
Of crowds and strife of their tumultuous jar ; 
Have sat with thee on highest mountain tops, 



72 THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 

And talked in midnights lone, while gross men 

dreamed 
Within the sweat of foul desire below ; 
Thou here our queen, and more perchance hereafter. 

ALETHE. 

Dost thou believe — 

ARNOLD. 

Believe ! I know that once 
Amid Eternity's unbeating watch, 
In Hades' gloom a bright form stepped, 
And broke the count of ghosts that moaned below ; 
She dropped a rainbow down from Paradise, 
The boon of Hope ringed o'er with dumb suspense ; 
And sometime there shall clasp the widening 

band, 
And dash despair with all its shackles off, 
And draw that rainbow with its host to Heaven. 



THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 73 

ALETHE. 

The isle enchanted on its mooring* rocks ; 
These abstruse questionings of good and ill 
Suit not its holiday trappings. Here is peace ; 
The skirts of Day have amaranthine bloom, — 
Sit still and pluck the fruitage as it falls. 

ARNOLD. 

Too high above my mortal reach grow fruits 
That I would pluck. 

ALETHE. 

Hush, hush, I'll sing thee still, 
And if this dulcet wind but cease to try 
The sweetness of its practised voice with mine, 
I'll weave the tissues of a light romance — 
List to the tale of Lady Rosalind. 

ARNOLD. 

I listen ; hark, the wind grows faint, then loud, 
Then quavers upward with unequal tone, 



74 THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 

As if it strove to find a sweeter key, 
Wherein to breathe responses to thy song. 

ALETHE, 

Thy lips drop similes as pearls ; I'll weave 
Bright chaplets of them when I wear such gems. 

ARNOLD. 

They were too pale beneath thine eyes' dear light, 
Else would I coin my inmost heart in smiles 
To shine upon that brow. But come, the tale ! 

ALETHE. 

I thought thine own tones had enamored thee, 
And so was mute. 

ARNOLD. 

Fear not I prove Narcissus, 
For I am like the mortals of old time 
That came to worship goddesses. 



THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 75 

ALETHE. 

Now list ; 
These pretty sweets will sicken me of mine. 

ARNOLD. 

Dost tire of such ! Then give them me again, 
For had I flung the evening stars themselves, 
I should not think the gift worth half so much 
As one poor smile flung off so carelessly. 

ALETHE. 

I see thou wilt not heed my tale — farewell ! 
I'll go and hum it gently to the waves. 

ARNOLD. 

Return ! I feed upon thy faltering words, 
Fret like a child that hath a store of sweets, 
And none will ope the comfits at his need ; 
Each moment tedious till thy tale commence, 
As evenings wasted in the dark alone. 
The very winds have stayed their music tread, 



76 THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 

The hours entranced will e'en forget to flee, 
And all the world stand still to listen here. 
Now make this bank thy carpet and thy throne, 
This sweet clematis twining o'er the elm, 
Until its droopings make a fairy bower. 
Shall shield us in its leafy shadows still, 
And thou shalt mark the blossoms whiter grow, 
And seek to pearl to fairness like thy brow. 
And lose the sweetness of their perfumed hearts 
In stealing softer fragrance from thine own. 

ALETHE. 

And now for Lad^^ Rosalind. 

ARNOLD. 

I am 
All eyes ! Last night each part of me was dead 
Save memory ; now all is gone but sight. 
And I shall catch the sunbeams from those orbs 
Until I grow a blind man with the rest. 



THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 77 

[alethe sings.^ 

The Lady Rosalind was weary 

Of banquet-room and hall ; 
Gloom darkened o'er the battlements, 

And cast its shroud on all. 

The Lady Rosalind was weary, 

In sooth she knew not why ; 
But pleasant things no longer pleased 

The fancy or the eye. 

The Lady knew not Joy or Love, 

Although she was a bride ; 
But truth to say with married dames, 

They sit not side by side. 

She left her smiles in every heart 

Whene'er it was her mood ; 
And then she walked a very nun, 

In rosary and hood. 



78 THE SHADOW WOESHIPER. 

Her Lord looked like the ghost of Years, 

He was so old and grim ; 
0, hers were dainty limbs be sure 

To lie by side of him. 

He slept before the Winter hearth, 
And dozed the Summer time, 

And so the Lady's youth wore on, 
Like roses in their prime. 

It was an irksome thing to him 
That she should look so bright ; 

And from her veins he fain had poured 
The wine of Youth's delight. 

The Lady Rosalind was proud. 

She had no need of speech ; 
Her glance could scorch his craven heart. 

Beyond where words might reach. 

She ruled some hearts with kindly tones, 
And some with bitter scorn ; 



THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 79 

But to her Lord wore mien as cold 
As if from marble born. 

They said it was a dainty sight 

Her little hands to see ; 
And well the poor might bless their work 

In doles of charity. 

The Lady Eosalind was weary, 

So weary of those things ; 
And used to sit the live long day, 

And wish that she had wings. 

And when the Summer came again — 

She was the Summer's child ; 
It pained the good queen's heart to see 

She neither laughed nor smiled. 

Her bright hands smoothed the auburn hair, 

And kissed those lips and eyes ; 
And strove to calm her wild unrest 

With gold and treasuries. 



80 THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 

She vowed an isle from Eastern realms, 
With stores of spice and balm, 

Should anchor in this Northern clime 
When winds and skies grew calm. 

The Lady Rosalind was glad, 
She sought the world again, 

And called her host of vassals up 
To homage in her train. 

She danced in halls and tourneys bright, 

And sang for very glee ; 
Her lord stood bj^ the pleasant while, 

A shadow grim was he. 

And then she vanished from their sight, 

As sunset from the West, 
And sought that fair, enchanted Isle, 

A crownless queen to rest. 

She counted pebbles in the brook, 
And as she gazed on them, 



THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 81 

The Summer flashed a bright glance down- 
Each kindled to a gem. 

The blossoms that she plucked for wreaths 

Seemed never meant to fade ; 
truth to say, that Isle was fair, 

In sunlit dell and glade. 

The Moon came down to talk awhile, 

Her feet with silence bound ; 
And as they laughed and roamed in glee, 

The stars would dance around. 

The waters told of hidden grots — 

For they must steal near too — 
Where mermaids waved their sea-green locks, 

And Nerieds might woo. 

The foam-wreaths lay along the shore, 

Like garlands of the sea ; 

A twisted band of pearls and surf, 

Her coronals to be. 
4 



82 THE SHADOW WOKSHIPER. 

It was as if the sea nymphs wove 
These wreaths of snowy flowers, 

Because they thought their king would bear 
An earth queen to their bowers. 

And oft she heard them sing below, 

And longed to be with them, 
As they carved a throne of coral reef, 

There seat one living gem. 

The stars sang out like cherubs young, 
The winds like minstrels played ; 

0, never haunt was half so fair. 
As that of Summer's maid. 

She took no note of human things, 

She lived not by their ties ; 
But slept or danced as was her mood. 

As sunbeams sink or rise. 

She ate no dross of earthly food, 
But feasted with the fays 



THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 83 

Who came or went as she might bid, 
For they had learned Iier ways. 

Tlie tiny sprites were dancing girls, 

And taught their measures fleet ; 
And when she moved tlieir monarch played 

A tone-wi-eatli soft and sweet. 

A god came down to sit with her, 

He looked like Summer's son ; 
Jove when he wooed an earthly maid 

Was such another one. 

Three happy days they counted o'er. 

And then the vision past ; 
The Lady fell a maddened thing. 

She was awake at last ! 

There was no aid, she could but moan, 

In vain she sought to pray ; 
The Fates had pointed fingers stern, 

And drove the Dream away. 



84 THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 

She hid her face before tlie god, 

Nor looked liis eyes within ; 
Good spirits aided Rosalind, 

She could not stoop to sin. 

She hurried from the sunlight's glare, 

It only crazed her now ; 
And madly she unclasped the wreath 

Of kisses from her brow. 

She sought the caves and lonely groves, 
With sobs when she would pray ; 

But that with earthly sights must pass, 
Though sin would last alwa3^ 

She passed afar from earthly ken. 

And she was seen no more ; 
Though oft the whispering waves and breeze 

Would tell her story o'er ; 

And search for her through dell and grot, 
And call upon her name ; 



THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 85 

And ask the nif^ht to speak of her, 
The silence was the same. 

She trod no more the Enchanted Isle, 

Nor played with Sun or Wind ; 
This is the mournful clironicle 

Of Lady Rosalind. 

ARNOLD. 

Who taught thee that ? I understand it not— 
There is some hidden meaning in the tale. 
Thy cheek is white, which at the first did glow ; 
Thine eyes are like two suns, whose light is out ; 
What means this change ? Speak, though the 

words should kill, 
And I will bless thee 'mid their crushing fall. 

ALKTHE. 

Arnold. 

ARNOLD. 

That is my name, it should be — speak ! 



86 THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 

0, pause not thus to measure out thy words, 
Nor torture me by holding' back my pain. 



My Arnold ! 



ALETHE. 



ARNOLD. 



Thy Yoice hath lost its music ; 
Once with such tenderness it spoke that name, 
My heart's emotions on its flow went out. 
Like trained birds to meet their master's call. 

ALETHE. 

I cannot tell thee, all my words are gone ; 

I have none left to syllable my woe. 

Ah, turn those eyes away, and leave me here ! 

So let me die unburied and unknown ; 

The sighing winds my requiem sliall cliant. 

The sea-waves moan like pitying spirits near, 

And none shall know my fate, none care to know. 



THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 87 

ARNOLD. 

Then bear me speak, for in my heaving soul 
The rush of madness, like a wave foams up ! 
I see that cheek, it has a frenzied glow ; 
Thy waning strength is spent, and thou art faint 
Beneath this passion-earthquake in its might. 
Those eyes' wild gleam, that bosom's swell ! Be 

mine ; 
And thus it is I claim thee. 

[Rushes toward her.] 

ALETHE. 

Madman off I 
I have a spell to smite thee where thou stand est. 

ARNOLD. 

Thou lovest me, for I read it in thy mien, 
It sparkles in thine eyes, glows on thy cheek, 
Floats among thy loose tresses. Ah, be mine ! 
Oaths, bonds, and vows that men as sacred hold, 
Or nuptials breathed in Nature's ear alone, 
Aught that thou wilt, I offer — take thy choice. 



88 THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 

ALETHE. 

Peace I They forced a choice on me long ago. 

ARNOLD. 

I do not understand thee. 

ALETHE, 

But thou wilt ! 
This mouth has known the taste of bearded lips, 
The pulses of this breast been in a leash. 
Behold ! I am the Lady Rosalind. 

ARNOLD. 

I did not comprehend thee, speak again ! 
There is a strange oppression on my brain, 
A leaden stupor where my heart sliould be. 

ALETHE. 

My Arnold, say thou art not going mad. 

ARNOLD. 

Methought one spoke my name — it was a dream 
If not a dream, the voice of shuddering ghosts 
That wait like servants in pale frenzy's train. 



THE SHADOW WOHSHIPER. 89 

A LETHE. 

Hear me, dear Arnold, for sweet mercy's sake I 

ARNOLD. 

Thou talkest of things grown loathsome to mine 

ear ; 
I move amid the dead, they are my mates ; 
All lusty men and blooming maidens once, 
And some were gentle babes that suckled still ; 
Well, all are gone now. Heaven rest their souls I 

ALETHE. 

Art thou distraught ? I am indeed ill-starred, 
If this great curse be thine. Come to thyself, 
Speak as of old, nor shroud thy startling words 
Beneath this vail of horrid imagery. 

ARNOLD. 

I have been mad, I think ; turn where I would, 
A sight of corpses, gravelights, mattocks foul ! 
Thy tones have brought me back to consciousness. 

There is one thought within, one huge desire, 

4* 



90 THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 

AVhich is itself become a world complete. 
The taste of those rare lips I fain would know, 
The clasp of those white arms, then let us fall, 
Exulting martyrs to the God adored. 

ALETHE. 

Alas, our little bud of hope ne'er bloomed ! 
Two children culling heart's-ease on a grave, 
The blossoms faded from us unaware, 
And we were plucking at a dead man's shroud. 

ARNOLD. 

And has that phantom overtaken thee ? 
Grope 'mid its gloom with ghosts for company. 
And take its dead for lovers if thou wilt, 
For them reject companionship on high. 

ALETHE, [flying.] 
Farewell I I cannot trust myself nor thee ! 
Poor crownless queen of throne and rank despoiled, 
Thine own heart with the traitors. 



THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 91 



SCENK VIII. 

Alethe and Zillah. 

ZILLAH. 

Art weary, madam ? 

ALETHE. 

My brain is tired, nurse. 

ZILLAH. 

That comes of thought and wanderings on that 

isle, 
Enough to make one die ten thousand deaths. 
In faith, thou trippest over hill and dale. 
As one that has been born a mountaineer. 
'Tis sheer midsummer madness, lady mine ! 
The saints forgive ; that robe is white with dews, 



92 THE SHAUOAV WORSHIPER. 

They border it like pearls ; that wealth of hair 
Is damp, as if with perfumes. What hast tliou, 
To stare so wildly with a look so wan, 
Like one that sees a ghost. 

ALETHE. 

And so I do ; 
The ghost of my departed Youth, good nurse ; 
She walks beside me, puts her hand in mine, 
And questions sadly of her happiness. 

ZILLAH. 

Madam ? 

ALETHE. 

Heed not, I did but dream aloud. 

ZILLAH. 

Wilt thou not sleep ? 

ALETHE. 

Do thou sleep, good Zillah ; 
I hold a watch to-night. 



THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 93 

ZILLAH. 

I'll watch with thee. 

ALETHE. 

Leave me, I have no need of company. 
So many vigils I have kept, and sat 

The last stars out, still marveling they should 

guard 
Their pallid brightness to the lowest verge 
That sweeps in light adown the nether world. 

ZILLAH. 

I fear my lady mistress is not well. 

ALETHE. 

I know thy lady mistress is not ill ! 

I have some humors, 'tis a woman's way ; 

Be sure thou cross them not, all shall be well — 

That is not ill beyond redemption here. 

ZILLAH. 

Now please the saints, that last can never be ; 
We dwell within a world of hope. 



94 THE SHADOW WOESHIPER. 

ALETHE. 

Heed not ; 
I do but gratify my humor. Zillah, 

My nurse, am I not gay ? 

ZILLAH. 

With edged jests, 
As one who drinks valerian till it craze. 

ALETHE. 

That was the draught ; how quick thou art of 

wit I 
Do madmen answer for their deeds ? 

ZILLAH. 

Alack I 
Not they, but fiends who prompt. 

ALETHE. 

Then I am mad ; 
Remember that, and if anon as one 
Who drains the chalice of Remorse I droop, 



THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 95 

Come in thy charity to whisper it, 

And I will bless thee, ZiHah, for the thought. 

ZILLAH. 

On thy brain that mass of hair weighs heavily, 

The feel of those damp robes is cold and chill. 

I shall array thee for thine evening rest, 

As I was wont to do when thou a child, 

A bright and wayward thing like opening May, 

Didst sleep upon my breast. I knew the beat 

Of every pulse within thy bosom then. 

But they are strangely altered in their tones 

Since I have held their countings in my hands. 

Hushed by wild tales. 

ALETHE. 

So skilled in legend lore 
Thou wcrt ! How many midnights we have 

watched 
Beside the hearth whose dying embers crept 
Like ghosts along the pictured walls, and I, 



96 THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 

Close to thy side, would quite expect to see 
The ghouls that always filled thy rede start up, 
And drag us like some princess and her nurse, 
To be the slaves of Eblis. 

ZILLAH. 

That is o'er I 

ALETHE. 

And one of us, at least, has learned to serve 
The dusky king without the aid of ghouls, 
Save such as swelter in the heart and wake 
Like monsters nursed in altar-fonts. 

ZILLAH. 

I weep 
To think of all our bliss within the haunts 
Our rushing stream along, ere thee they dragged 
Forth from thy covert like some timid dove. 
I've heard thee sing until thy tones were like 
A chorused flock of birds whose summer throats 
Are lined with sunbeams. But I hear no more 
Such music — where thy wealth of glee-bursts now ? 



THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 97 

ALETHE, 

All gone, and lost beneath a billowed sea, 
Whose every wave rolls up a living moan, 
And will not sink again. Doom caught the flock 
Of bird-notes thou didst love and grasped their 

wings 
Till summer songs grew lamentations drear. 
I am no more the simple child thou'st known, 
I am become a stranger to myself ; 
In very deed I'm Lady Rosalind. 

ZILLAH. 

The Lady Rosalind, what riddle's here 1 

ALETHE siting. 

And when the Summer came again, — 

She was the Summer's child — 
It grieved the good queen's heart to see 

She neither laughed nor smiled. 
She trod no more the Enchanted Isle, 

Nor played with Sun or Wind ; 



98 THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 

This is the mournful chronicle 
Of the Lady Rosalind. 
Nurse mine, good night. 

ZILLAH. 

Again, saints guard thee, sweet ; 
Good night, good night. [Exit.] 

ALETHE. 

And so the last one goes I 
I would not call her back nor would I claim 
The flight of rainbow hopes that Sorrow's dawn 
Has heralded. I need none now, nor should 
I know their brightness if they spanned the arch, 
But think them potents dire and curse them back. 
Be thou my nurse, Sleep ; hush me to rest ; 
But babble not old tales, thou must not grow. 
Sweet nurse, a gossip, for I know the smell 
Of poppies on thy vohe, tliey're poisoned scents 
To me — my brain is dizzied 'neath their dreams. — 
And now for thought ! For thought, said I? no, 
I meant to banish every boding fear. 



THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 99 

Ah, shall I never see the daylight clear ag-ain, 
Nor quench this thirst unnatural evermore ? 
One way there is where soft the sunshine lies, 
Where founts from which the blest have drank foam 

brig?it ; 
But once dark Circe's palaces within, 
AYhere lead the labyrinths I shall tread !— Be still ! 
Spurn petty laws made but for petty men, 
Leap o'er the mountains Fate has interposed, 
And claim the sweetness of the Promised Land. 
Snatch at the glory of that magic draught, 
So strong 'twould make a world intoxicate, 
So sweet man lost his birthright long ago 
Its Lethean drops to taste, whose essence leaves 
One face on earth, one sight where'er we turn, 
A loneliness in Heaven if that be not, 
A paradise in Hell should that be there. 
Eve drank with Lucifer — she was the first ; 
The angels with the daughters she brought forth. 
And I with thee, my Arnold. 

LofC. 



100 THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 



f art II. 
SCENK I. 

A FESTIVE H ALL. 

Arnold, Villiars and Guests. 

ARNOLD. 

Refill your cups and count the moments' flight 
By beaded foam-gems on their sides. How now! 
What silent madness hath o'ertaken all ? 

VILLIARS. 

We are us men b}^ lightning stricken blind ! 
Gems on the star-wreathed bowls ne'er glowed 

so bright, 
As coruscations of such sparkling wit 
Upon those lips of thine — they drop spear points. 



THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 101 

AKNOLD. 

Then what a wealth of garlands thou canst make ; 
They'll be no sharper to the touch than most 
Earth-diadems. 

VILLIARS. 

Hast worn one that thou speakest 
So glibly of such consecrated things ? 

ARNOLD. 

How many fools have worn a crown, — Life 
Hath coronals she offers all, while men 
Are but the idiots that she wills them be. 
Wilt hear a tale ? 

VILLIARS. 

Thy lips bloom romances 
With such a relish strange they're sweet to me 
As drops wherewith our Bacchus feeds us. Speak I 
Those gaping fools will never heed — they're wrapt. 



102 THE SHADOW WORSHIPEK. 

ARNOLD. 

Ay, in the worthless mantle of their own 
Ignoble passions ! I say, refill the cups — 
All hail, a toast, a toast ! 

VILLIARS. 

Thou lookest so mad ; 
I know thy speech will cut too deep ! Bid me 
Give out the toast. 

ARNOLD. 

Then speak it merrily. 

VILLIARS. 

Pile up the beakers with a crown of foam ! 
We go beyond tlie royal Bacchanal and drain 
The wealth of sumless diadems. E,eady all, 
My moiiarchs of a moment ? 

GUESTS. 

We are ready. 



THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 103 



Then drink your kingdoms. 

ARNOLD. 

Surest way to keep 
Possession I And the toast — 

VILLI ARS, 

Is wine and woman. 

ARNOLD. 

Since Fate has cursed them once, what need again? 

VILLIARS. 

Nought ever suits thy humor ! 1 have known 
Those lips ask sunsliine, then its coming curse. 
I've heard thou wert a marvelous poet once, 
And I have read wild dreamings of thy brain. 
That was before thou grewest a reveler 
And took to feasting. By this light, thou art 
As changeable as bubbles on the sea ! 



104 THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 

To shape of this thy present mood, be sure 
The next shall be most opposite. The tale, 
Of which Life's varied phantoms doth it treat ? 

ARNOLD. 

Our talk was of those fools who wear a crown, 
And then I thought of one who grasped at all 
The visions of a diadem that came. 

VILLIARS. 

He must have had an itch to be a king. 

ARNOLD. 

In faith 'twas that. 

VILLIARS. 

So then he was no prince ? 

ARNOLD. 

Mad men are princes all. 

VILLIARo. 

Tiiea I'd be mad. 



THE SHADOW WOKSHIPER. 105 

ARNOLD. 

I see the sweep of thy gross thoughts ; they run 
On sceptres, and a host of gilded things. 
Mark you, it was no earthly sovereignty 
That madman sought. 

VILLIARS. 

Did he aspire to Heaven ? 

ARNOLD. 

The very world his unreined fancy grasped. 
I do believe in truth, thou hast been mad. 

VILLIARS. 

Speak of thy madman's humors not of mine ; 
ni never choose thee for my herald. 

ARNOLD. 

No ; 

For I should speak too honestly to please. 

But to my theme ! He conjured up, this fool, 

The wildest visions for his fond embrace ; 
5 



106 THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 

From infancy he was the fiercest thing, 

And once, to vent his spleen, tore at the breast 

Which gave him nourishment. 

VILLIARS. 

madness rare 1 

ARNOLD. 

It was his humor ; all have theirs, but few, 

Perchance, like his. They said that when a babe, 

He never shut his earnest eyes to sleep. 

But while he slumbered left the lids aslant, 

And those who watched saw all the dreams within. 

'Mid other fancies of his rounding years. 

Was one that he had known another life ; 

He dreamed of worlds beyond this human ken, 

And thought some dismal chance had dragged 

him thence, 
To be an outcast here who there was king. 
He sought the world entire to find a mate. 
And forced himself to baseness thus to drown 



THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 107 

The fever in his heart ; and then he raised 
In blasphemies against the throne his voice, 
Or called upon the earth to trample him ; 
Courted Jove's lightnings, in the wildest storms, 
Baring his forehead to the blast, would rush, 
Cursing himself, his God, in frenzy fits. 
He grew a courser of the ghostly night, 
And while the hours went tearing through his 

heart, 
Launched maledictions at the star whose gleams 
Had lured him onward in the fearful race. 
He sought all climes like some unquiet fiend, 
And every heart grew black, and every soul 
He looked in withered. Desolation took 
A shape of earth and made that high-browed youth 
Her minister with varied shapes, and all 
A world of smiles unlike and beautiful. 
One time he bent with wisdom o'er the tome. 
Anon he groped with satyrs on the eartli ; 
Then came a fever down and trod his brow, 



108 THE SHADOW WORSHIPEK. 

Aud brought up visions with a mailed hand. 
She thrust him to delirium that tore 
Without restraint his heart. Then long in deep, 
Mysterious sleep he lay, nor lived, nor dreamed. 
Nor knew how struggling life dragged on its 
length. 

He woke at last as meteors from a trance, 

But felt a strange unwonted need of rest 

Creep as a thirst for slumber o'er his soul. 

In haste he sought afar some quiet haunt. 

Remote from busy din of worldly strife. 

And learned unseen to love most simple things, 

To hear with strange acuteness Nature's tones, 

To find a meed of sweetness in his cup, 

A jewel upon his worn and tattered garb, 

A spark of sunlight in the Stygian pool 

Where angered furies long had bound his spirit. 

VILLI ARS. 

Most strange he should have taught himself such 
wise 



THE SHADOW WORSHIPEK. 109 

And difficult lessenings for better men 

Have found them hard to learn ; there must have 

been 
A soul of light v^ithin. 

ARNOLD. 

At least one near I 

VILLIARS, 

He should have been a mortal of rare make, 

If Heaven would send its choicest teachers down 

To grope for goodness in his loathsome ways. 

ARNOLD. 

It was a teacher God had never claimed ; 

He had not wove the constellation-crown 

In which that star should have its fitting place. 

What that pale Youth, whose heart went fast 

asleep 
Beneath his art, had grown — (he changed the tale. 
And made the innocent the sorcerer) — 
The latest roses did not live to see. 



110 THE SHADOW WOKSHIPER. 

One came anon arrayed in angel guise, 

Astarte, whom fallen seraphs drew from bliss, 

But to the fever-toy she looked a mate. 

She was the passing ruler of an isle. 

Held by the elvan monarchs and their train ; 

Neptune became a lover for her sake, 

And sent a host of mermaids out to woo. 

But she would wear no wreath of coral leaves. 

The dreamer ventured to her charmed haunt, 

And flung him in the sunshine of her tread, 

And fell to stringing poesies for her sake. 

They strove to make themselves two singing birds, 

And live like fairies on the light and dew, 

And chant weird melodies all day to tones 

The wind sang only when the twain were nigh. 

But one fine morn they wakened from these sports, 

And evil thoughts crept slily in as oft 

They do, and mar the purest vesture meant 

For spirit-wearing. 



THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. Ill 

VILLIARS. 

A sin uncommon too ! 

ARNOLD. 

Blame fate, not me. 

VILLIARS. 

I do not choose blame either ; 
Such sin is near to worship in its guise, 
'T would puzzle a philosopher to tell 
The difference. And they loved, you say ? 

ARNOLD. 

Loved 1 
'Tis but a feeble word, the lowest men 
Beneath their tanned hides a passion wear 
To which they give that name. 

VILLIARS. 

I know a word 
Seems suited well — now Eros blind forgive 
If I interpret ill I But gather up 



112 THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 

The ends of this thy tule and dip them all 
Within that wine cup — thou art thirsty. 
[They drink.'] On ! 

ARNOLD. 

The Lady fled but faster than she fled, 

Hot breathed Desire went panting after her ; 

He caught her somewhere 'neath a winking Night, 

And dragged her back again to sacrifice. 

Ye gods, tear down the mantle of our dreams, 

And on your amorous beauties let me look, 

That I maj^ paint a portrait. Crowned heads 

Intoxicate on Passion's throne they lay, 

And made the very air with kisses sick. 

Bury thyself within the regal Past, 

And sleep with kings on Cleopatra's breast. 

If thou would'st picture it. 

VILLIARS. 

And then the}^ sank, 
And stranded on the beach of dumb Despair ! 



THE SHADOW WOKSHIPER. 113 

ARNOLD. 

Still lower than the angels who had sinned, 
To depths where only boiling fires had walked ; 
So deep that kindred devils scarce might hear 
The smothered bubble of their moans below. 

VILLIARS, 

They parted weary of this world they'd found ? 

ARNOLD. 

No, maddened by Remorse ; for Passion's glow 
Fell off, and there instead of purple thrones, 
Was one vast pall of dead men's shrouds ; the sea 
Of their great Happiness thick with slimy things, 
And tideless as the waves that keep their watch 
Above the thrice cursed cities of the plain. 

VILLIARS. 

Thou hast deserted goodly company ! 

Where is the Boy, the sunlight of thy dream. 

He who should grow another Morning star ? 
6* 



114 THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 

ARNOLD. 

He watches on the forehead of the Lamb. 

VILLIARS. 

Died he ? 

ARNOLD. 

Since stars die not I Too bright for this, 
He went another sphere to shine within. 
Call not that Death which but Transition is ; 
Call not this Life which is a frenzy fit. 

VILLIARS. 

If constellations claim him now, I ween 

He slumbers ere this hour. Lo you, the ghost 

Of Day sits on the curtains. 

ARNOLD. 

Red and mad, 
That we have stained her garments with our 

potions. 
That drunken crew sleep on their cups like fiends 



THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 116 

Pillowing themselves on spent desires, and this 
Our place of revelry a Pandemonium. 

VILLIARS. 

Ho sluggards, up ! Ye children of the Night, 
What do you in the realms of Morn ? Away 1 
See how they yawn I Great God, these fumes are 

worse 
Than those same Stygian pools you wot of. 

A GUEST. 

We slept upon the mantle of your talk. 

VILLIARS. 

You must have dreamed then I It was far too 

rich 
For such as you to sully, and I marvel not 
It ended like a demon feast in gloom, 
If you were sleeping 'mid its gorgeousness. 

A GUEST. 

The wine hath soured on your stomach I Come, 
A parting bowl to warm your pulses. 



116 THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 

ARNOLD. 

Yes, 
Fill to the very brim another cup ; 
Ye cannot drain too many kingdoms. — Now 1 

VILLTARS. 

Our thrones will crumble from their richness vast, 
And bury us beneath the crimson weight. 

ARNOLD. 

At least the death were worthy of our lives. 
The pyre on which I sink to Hades be 
These festal revelries, and so like the sun. 
Die out in brightness to the very last. 
Drink ! drink ! 

VILLI ARS. 

No more ; the skies reel o'er us now. 
We go to gild another hemisphere, 
And so with cups and flagons yawning wide, 
My prince of dreamers leave thee here. 

A GUEST. 

Out, out, 
Ye wine-stars, out I [Exeunt ] 



THE SHADOW WORSHIPEK. 117 



SCKNE II. 

A STREET IN A GREAT CITY.— EARLY MORN. 

ARNOLD. 

The gray dawn fights her slow way through the 

sky, 
The mists hang to her raiment leaden clouds ; 
And now I look again it is no woman, 
But a red-faced Bacchanal leering forth ; 
Or if it be the Day, she's lost her youth. 
And slept with Morpheus among the shades. — 
I tire of these broad and populous streets ; 
Deserted by the glittering crowds of noon, 
They look too desolate ; I'll leave their gloom, 
And seek awhile the haunts of meaner men. 

[ Turns doion a narrow street.] 
See how those loathsome shapes go creeping by, 
From shades of infamy where they have lain 
Amid the steam of their impurity. 



118 THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 

There wander some to gird their loins with toil, 
And squeeze their hunger pangs to rest. Like 

Fate, 
Some within the by-ways sit stony-eyed, 
And steal their rightful share of nourishment. 
These from the orgies of the reeking brain. 
And doubly maddened by this coming light. 
Rush heedless to the gloom beyond. They're wise, 
At least a change of tortures is a boon. 
It seems each instant but to grow more dark ! 
Night quarrels with the Day, and inch by inch 
Disputes with her for mastery ; while they fight, 
The earth lies cold and chill beneath the strife, 
As nations perish slowly while their kings 
Contend for thraldom o'er the bloody waste. 

[A vailed wo7nan approaehes.] 
Beneath that shrouding vail what shape is hid. 
With sinuous motion gliding o'er the stones ? 
I seem to know that fleeting form, that step, 
The folding of that long black vail above, 



THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 119 

The very clasping of those slender hands, 
All seem familiar to my troubled sight — 
Can I be mad ? 

ALETHE. 

Who speaks of madness here ? 
'Tis an ill-omened word — be still. 

ARNOLD, 

Great Heaven, 
That voice — it handles rough my crisping brain I 
Spectre, away I — speak— what dost thou here ? 

ALETHE, sings. 

When the silent grave was still, 

And Death the goaler slept, 
I, a pale ghost, stole softly by, 

And from the silence crept. 

I come to walk the earth again. 

And curse its living things ; 
I cannot move half fast enough, 

0, would that I had wings ! 



120 THE SHADOW WOKSHIPER. 

I strode the Northern blast last night, 

I rode upon the gale ; 
I held an earthquake in my hand, 

Didst hear the thousands wail ? 

I am the queen they call Astarte, 

I am the demon's bride ; 
I hold foul Sin in one hard clutch. 

And Death sits cold beside. 

ARNOLD. 

I cannot see the features they are hid ; 
The voice hath caught a sharp, unnatural sound. 
Like grating on these iron bars of Life, 
And yet — my God, I will not think it is ! 
That glowing band of young Italian days ; 
The host of rainbows that we kissed upon ; 
The sunbeams that we wove a garland of — 
The wind that stole its secrets from our eyes — 
The birds that mimicked sweetness from our lips— 



THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 121 

All sights and sounds that made a Paradise 
In that Enchanted Isle, are with me now. 

ALETHE. 

Who speaks of all those things ? I am their 

queen ! 
Where are my subjects ! Ho, my retinue, 
My robes of state, my sceptre and my crown. 
Summon my vassals, there must be a war ! 
Bring out my fiercest charger ; I shall ride 
A monarch at the column's head. Up, up I 
The isle's in danger — rouse ye now — arm quick 
To battle with your queen. 

ARNOLD 

I see it is 
A poor distraught, and yet it is — Alethe ! 

ALETHE. 

Who dares to speak that name ? So I was called 
A thousand years ago, and I have had 



122 THE SHADOW WOKSHIPER. 

So many titles since, and yet that one 
Clings to me still ; I'll hear it not. 

ARNOLD. 

Alethe 1 

ALETHE. 

That name again ! Ye kindle me with rage I 

Shall I a crowned queen by puny worms 

Of earth be mocked ? Great Lucifer, my king, 

To whom these mortals bow, shall give the dolt 

A million years of pain for tilting thus. 

I know thee not, my sight has grown so dim 

These ages I have dwelt with Death below. — 

I'll see more clear anon. 

ARNOLD. 

Now bend and fall, 
Ye frowning battlements of dens, fall thick 
With all your weight of infamy and sin, 
Crush me this cursed spirit from its clay. 
And thou knowest me not ? 



THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 123 

ALETHE. 

How should I know thee I 
Belike thou art some fiend leagued with me once, 
But 'mid the world of sights before my gaze, 
I am too slow to station thee. Yet hold ! 
That voice comes o'er me like a churchyard wind, 
And eyes like those I studied long ago, 
But whether in this world or when I went 
Death's bride to be, I cannot tell. All here, 

[Puts her hand to her brow.] 
Is so confused. Those voices summon, hush ! 
They bid me to the silent tomb again. 
Place but thy hand in mine. 

ARNOLD. 

Its touch would blast. 

ALETHE, [grasps it.] 
I know the feel of it for I have held 
Those shuddering pulses ere this lonesome hour 1 
Where did I know thee ? Say, art Night ? no, 



124 THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 

Thy face is troubled as a heavy cloud, 

The glances of those eyes can scorch like flames. 

[ARNOLD attempts to free himself.'] 
0, break not from me till these mists clear off ; 
It vexes me to see a queen so hesitate. 
At least I'll whisper this to thee — bend low I 
Death is a tyrant ; one day I shall bid 
My faithful vassals bind him where so long 
Such tortures I've endured. 

ARNOLD. 

Not SO ; he is 
Our only friend. 

ALETHE. 

Thou dost not look beyond 
To worlds on worlds of circling Hells, and stars 
That wildly shooting from their seats lay waste 
The little Heaven that wanderers build. No rest, 
No quiet and no sleep ; Sleep dieth here. 
Her ghost barred entrance in the wide Beyond. 



THE SHADOW WOKSHIPER. 125 

ARNOLD. 

'Tis as well ; her power here is gone. 

ALETHE, 

Thou art — 
Say, who art thou I There is that in thy tones 
Which almost stirs this sluggish pulse to life, 
And makes like kindling flame my dull blood leap 
Within its palsied veins. 

ARNOLD, 

I am what Fate 
Hath made me ; thou the thing Despair and I 
Have put thee too, 

ALETHE. 

I do not understand thee ; 
I once did know the language thou hast spoke, 
But I have learned so many since, 'tis grown 
A stranger like that face. 

ARNOLD. 

Where knewest thou it ? 



126 THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 

ALETHE. 

Ay, that it is which vexes me ! I am 

A sovereign, and my subjects all save thoughts 

Are fealty slaves, no chains their flight can bind. 

Ha ! now I look upon thee once again. 

There is a strange unwonted tumult 'mid 

The scorching fever of my brain. speak, 

Where wert thou when I clasped thee in these 

arms, 
What skies bent o'er us twain ? It was not here — 
At least I think 'twas not ; some ruined star 
Whose light was quenched more centuries agone 
Than this snail planet yet has crawled, has been 
Our passing Paradise, 

ARNOLD. 

And clingeth still 
That vision of my maddened brain to thee ? 

[a LETHE, sings. ] 

When the silent grave was still, 
And Death the goaler slept, 



THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 127 

I, a pale ghost, stole softly bj^, 
And from the darkness crept. 

I am the queen they call Astarte, 

And ye my vassals are ; 
I rule you in this earthly tomb, 

And in the world afar. 

Bring out an earthquake for my steed, 

A hurricane that's red ; 
I'll hurl it with avenging arm, 

Among the quick and dead. 

Up demons from your fiery haunts. 

And forth to work my will ; 
Great Lucifer may rule the earth, 

But I shall rule him still. 

Who sunk the isle, did'st thou ? Enchanted thing. 
It could not sink, but floateth still alone 
In southern seas of balm — would I were there ! 
The moonlight is so soft, soft as his eyes ; 



128 THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 

The waters are so cool, the mermaid wreaths 
Would frost my troubled brain to quietness. 
I do remember — sing a romance now ; 

In very deed Pm Lady Rosalind. 

[Sings.] 

She trod no more the Enchanted Isle, 
Nor played with Sun or Wind ; 

This is the mournful chronicle 
Of Lady Rosalind. 

That's not the verse — nor stir upon thy life — 
I will remember it. 

ARNOLD. 

To mark such woe ! 

[alethe, sings.] 
Her Lord looked like the ghost of Years, 

He was so old and grim ; 
0, hers were dainty limbs be sure, 

To lay by side of him. 

She took another to his bed — fie ! fie I 

That's foul 1 She did it in a dream ; well, well, 



THE SHADOW WOESHIPER. 129 

Old Mother Eve was first to pave the way — 

Ask Lucifer ; he doth remember still, 

The taste of dew upon her honied lips. 

I must away. [He turns to follow her.] 

No, no, thou shalt not come 
Thou art not for the world of shadows yet, 

ARNOLD. 

Ah, if ^tis there thou goest then take me too. 

ALETHE. 

And now the Day is out, poor garish flirt I 
I know her ways in spite of innocence. 
Brave Night and I could tell the gallant's bed 
From which we drove the proud wench forth I 'Tis 

naught — 
At least 'tis naught to thee, 

ARNOLD. 

Stay, stay and list, 
1 have — 



180 THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 

ALETHE. 

Thou must not whisper secrets here ; 
These listening skies are tell-tales too. 

[^Breaks away ; Arnold turns to pursue her but falls 
insensible.'] 



THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 131 



|Hrt III. 
SCENE I. 

A ROOM IN L MONASTERY. 

Prior and Attendant. 

ATTENDANT. 

A stranger waits without. 

PRIOR. 

His errand here ? 

ATTENDANT. 

A moment with your grace. 

PRIOR. 

What man is this ? 

ATTENDANT. 

No words of mine his likeness e'er could paint ; 
He is not tall, but full of majesty, 



THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 

And bears him with the swelling port of kings, 
Although his garb is as a penitent's. 
His sandaled feet trod down the cloister's length, 
As they were trained to mounting thrones ; I 

looked 
Upon his brow, some royal bands to see. 
But marked a heavy pain which loomed instead, 
From out the grandeur of his lambent eyes. 
His hands are tinged like Mayday buds at noon, 
And curls droop o'er the splendor of his brow. 
Touched with the Autumn wood-leaves russet hue. 
He flung me gold, as I might fling a dash 
Of water, then with such a noble mien, 
Cast smiling back his mantle's sombre folds. 
When I would kiss the glory from his hand. 

PRIOR. 

Now for thy penance tell more prayers to-night, 
Than shall outnumber thrice the golden count 
That dazzled with his beauty in thine eyes. 



^ 



THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 133 

ATTENDANT. 

I thank the Father I am thus reproved. 

PRIOR. 

So is it well ! Admit this stranger now. 

[Attendant turns to go.^ 
Yet stay thy haste, and bring my robe of state, 
The cross and mitered cap that Bishops wear ; 
When in their pomp of pride the worldly come, 
The Church should put her highest glories on, 
And fade the sheen of unblessed vanities. 

attendant. 
He comes for consolation, as I think ; 
He seems most hardly tried. 

PRIOR. 

And this is bought 
With sinner's gold, and prayers of pious men. 
Seek thou this pilgrim, though I wonder much 
At such approach and garb, for great men now 



134 THE SHADOW WOESHIPER. 

Are wout no more the palmer's hood to don. 
Belike some sin rests heavy on his soul, 
That prayers and penitence alone can cleanse. 

[JSnter Arnold in penitenfs dress — falls at 
the Prior's yj?e^.] 
The blessing of the Church be on thy head ! 
What wouldst thou with her, servant, pilgrim son ? 

ARNOLD. 

A weary soul craves refuge from the storm, 
That 'mid the night like some poor sailless barque 
Sinks idly on a rainy sea alone. 

PRIOR. 

Such rest is in the Holy Mother's gift, 
And in her treasuries are peace and hope ; 
But art thou of our sacred credence, son ? 

ARNOLD. 

I know not what I am ! Save a wild dream 
Of wrath and fiends, I have believed in nought. 



THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 135 

I worship at no shrine, bow to no God, 
Nor ever to confessional mumbling went, 
Nor paying paltry gold for priestly prayers. 
I have but lived because Death would not kill ; 
He grows more merciful, for I am now 
Upon the threshold of that door which he, 
With torch fresh garlanded shall open wide. 
Look on this pallid brow, this sunken cheek, 
Then say whose hand is there — thou seest 'tis 
his ! 

PRIOR. 

Amazement strikes me like a lance ; son. 
Some dreadful crime I fear is shrined there too. 

ARNOLD. 

That is between the One you call a God and me. 
I ask thee is there rest within these walls. 
Or does despair fill up the convent gloom. 
Like ghosts within the outer world ? 



136 THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 

PRIOR. 

With us 

Dwells Peace, and leaves the crowded mart too 

mad 

Her lessonings to list. But what art thou ? 
Vows bind these holy walls like cinctures pure ; 
And penitence and scourgings of the flesh, 
And midnight vigils on the bared knees. 
Shut out desires of the actual world. 

ARNOLD. 

Bind by what vow thou wilt ; thine is my wealth, 

My dying breath— my thanks, if thou'lt accept — 

But look thou not to me for penitence. 

More vigils have I kept than all thy crew. 

Thrice o'er, in every shape, neath every clime ; 

Unquiet scourgings of the soul within. 

Than all thy pains of martyred flesh more sharp. 

0, I could teach thee penitence, and could fright 

With but the bare recital all thy train. 

We do but waste the time— thine answer, priest? 



THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 137 

PRIOR. 

Such sins need compensation to absolve. 

ARNOLD. 

It is of gold thou speakest ? See, here it is ! 

[Flings down caskets.] 
These baubles were enough to buy men's souls ; 
Pearls that have gleamed o'er monarch's aching 

brows, 
Gems that have lost and won a crown ere this ! 
Why dost thou start? Nay, all are thine, and 

more ; 
Ay, countless sums thy mind could never grasp, 
Wert thou transformed from this dull shape, and 

made 
One vast arithmetic. Yes, take them all, 
And give the donor but his meed of rest. 

PRIOR. 

To turn a penitent away were sin. 
6* 



1S8 THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 

ARNOLD. 

Old man, again ! I am no penitent ; 

Thou canst not judge my sufferings nor my sin ; 

Thou hast the likeness of mortality, 

But all the fever of its blood has died. 

I will not offer prayers, nor chant a mass ; 

My soul is near the hour of its release, 

And knows no faltering now. Fate gave me life, 

And fate may claim the gift I do not prize ; 

Hell has been here, worse cannot lie beyond. 

Its doom must change, or grow too weak to harm. 



There may be hope for thee. 

ARNOLD. 

I tell thee no ! 
Look in the Past, and mark her tomb ; she died 
More years ago than I have kept the count ; 
She had no ghost, but madness took her place. 



THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 189 

PRIOR. 

But thou art safer here than in the world. 
Thy boon is granted ; thou shalt have our prayers, 
And when Death comes anon, for now I see 
His pale hand on that veined brow of thine, 
A pious burial. 

ARNOLD. 

Fling me to the dogs I 
Cut me in pieces for the worms ; so gash 
And mutilate the corse that ghouls themselves 
Who've lived these many years therein would 

cease 
To recognize the shape ; but talk no more 
Of prayers and pious burial. 

PRIOR. 

Thy name ? 

ARNOLD. 

Arnold the Wanderer. 



140 THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 

PRIOR. 

I have heard of thee ; 
That wide spread natne of thine, in truth is one 
Which cringing men do worship, yet abhor. 
Thy wealth is great beyond compare, and yet 
Thy sins outweigh it like a sea. I thought 
Thou wert an older man ; gray-haired and bent I 
Here is a cheek Youth should to blushing kiss, 
A form that glowing Health should nourish still 
With medicines of joy ; but thou wilt die I 
Thy very sin hath found thee out. O, son — 
Pray that it be not yet too late. 

ARNOLD. 

E'en here 
My cursed name hath entered ; 'twere more fit 
For demon tongues to mouth, than lips like thine. 

PRIOR. 

Performance of my holy duties brought 

The fearful knowledge of thy deeds and thee. 



THE SHADOW WORSHIPEK. 141 

Before this Greatness took me by the hand, 

And set me in the station I now hold, 

Patient I toiled in humble spheres ; in all, 

The service that He loved have strove to do. 

Once at the bedside of a dying girl, 

I heard confession of a mighty sin. 

A noble blood ran crimson in her veins,' 

But shame had clasped its girdle o'er her charms; 

She was so young to die, a bud half-bloomed I 

Her kindred bound her to the side of one 

Whose veins were frosted o'er with age, and she 

With passions which are Youth's, like flame on 

shrines. 
One came too soon in seraph guise, and wiled 
Her shut heart to himself, until it lost 
All consciousness beneath the glowing tide 
His magic poured above ; she flung herself 
Into his arms, laid honor at his feet, 
For mad desire to trample on ; but when. 
The cloying sweetness of that bright dream gone, 



142 THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 

She woke from out the mazes of her trance, 

Hope stood aloof, and reason hurried off — 

She was alone with Madness and her Misery. 

There is a grave within a lonesome dell, 

That's deep in Nature's heart, where shadows lie, 

As ghosts the sun may never chase, and brooks, 

Babbling with grief, laze on, as if they kept 

The marble pulses of that sleeper there. 

Some hand has planted lilies in the mold, [filed. 

That droop their heads, though pure and unde- 

As if that lost one's soul had taken root. 

And bloomed anew within those scented flowers. 

There is a rude stone, where the fair head lies. 

And all the record left of her whose blood 

Once sate on thrones, that clump of buds, and 

cross 
Whereon is graved the one word — '' Rosalind." 

ARNOLD. 

I have no tears, or I would give them all 
Unto her memorv. She is of a dream 



THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 143 

That lived in Summer's circle, when it fled 
Took with it all of Summer's purity — 
The starlit rounding of my boyhood's course, 
Before it dropped in utter night. 

PRIOR. 

I'll point 
The spot to thee, and thou shalt oft pray there ; 
Be sure thou wear its pansies next thy heart, 
For they will be the harbingers of peace — 
One angel more shall wait thy coming. Son, 
A sin repented of is half atoned, 
And bound like bruised herbs on the soul will 

grow 
A blessing, thrice as bright that it was born 
Like Alpine blossoms 'mid the chill of doom. 
Thy fate hath been untoward, and thy Youth 
Like fearful legends at the twilight told ; 
But light from thine eternal port is round. 
Fling out all visions from thy darkened heart. 
And leave alone repentance's blessed fruits, 



144 THE SHADOW WORSHIPER. 

With fragrant heart's^ease from that lowly grave. 
The vesper bell is sounding like a hymn 
Within the mellow hush of ripening eve ; 
We'll talk anon, but call this shrine thy home, 
Until an angel breathe upon thy heart, 
And with a soft touch lead thee up to Heaven. 



JESSIE LINDEN. 145 



JESSIE LINDEN. 

Hoary locks and golden tresses, 
Wrinkled cheeks and lips of red* 

Tottering limbs and fawn-like graces* 
Joining these the rites are said. 

Peal the bells like children laughing, 
Bridal notes should ring out clear ; 

Though 'twas strange death-peals had never 
Rung the bridegroom to his bier. 

Place the ring upon her finger, 

Press the kiss upon her brow ; 
Worse than ban of old Mezentius, 

Is the doom that waits her now. 

Hark, the wind among the arches, 
What it is it seems to say ; 



146 JESSIE LINDEN. 

Hush, the priest is breathing softly — 
" Thus this twain I join alway." 

How she stands that white-robed maiden, 
What a mien for bride to wear ; 

How the wind among the arches 
Sighs and moans like spirits there. 

Nought she sees of all this pageant. 
Nought she hears the priest has said ; 

Only hears the wild winds' voices, — 
" Come with us, we are the dead." 

Haughty eyes are gazing coldly, 
O, not now she heeds their stare ! 

" God be thanked," the priest is saying, 
" Take my blessing and my prayer." 

" God be thanked," the wind reechoes, 

Moaning louder in her ear ; 
*' God be thanked for death and slumber, 

Leaving care and sorrow here." 



JESSIE LINDEN. 147 

Now the wind has ceased its grieving, 

How the Past is in her eyes ; 
You may paint a thousand pictures 

As the varied phantoms rise. 



See that dwelling grim and olden, 
What a weight of mournful gloom ; 

But a white-robed maiden passes — 
Lo, the sunlight in the room. 

Down each dim and winding passage. 
Through each wide and stately hall, 

Marks her garments floating lightly, 
Hear her footsteps rise and fall. 

Dreams she now beside the casement, 
Leans her forehead on the sill, 

While the sunbeams hover nearer, 
Stealing kisses at their will. 



148 JESSIE LINDEN. 

Thus it is the long Day passes, 

And the Eve is drawing on, 
Pale and dim as 'twere the Morning 

Love's excess had made so wan. 

Now she dreams but not in silence — 
Lo, she sees a shadow rise — 

Had you asked where was her Heaven, 
She had pointed to those eyes. 

Now their hearts as one are beating, 
Vague emotions wildly crowd ; 

They had sworn 'twas music stealing, 
Not their pulses throbbing loud. 

But the midnight waxes deeper, 

And the stars have shut their eyes ; 

Fleecy clouds along the azure, 
Show the track where Eden lies. 

That is not another Morning 

When the Eve seemed scarce begun ! 



JESSIE LINDEN, 149 



But the sky hath donned its blushes 
At the waking of the Sun. 

Thus the days and sunbeams vanish, 
Summer turns so loath to go ; 

Grieving as she leaves the maiden 
With her dreams like sunset's glow. 



Now another picture rises, — 

Hark, the wind begins to moan- 
As it cursed the priest for saying, 
" Loving hearts are thus made one.'* 

But the spell is strong upon her. 

Lives she still within those dreams ; 

Neither winds nor tones can more her, 
So unreal the Present seems. 



160 JESSIE LINDEN. 

There are clouds within the Heaven, 
Like a throng with rushing feet, 

And the moonbeams through that casement 
Find no shadows to repeat. 

Now within a dismal city 

Cold eyes watch above her keep, 

And the only dreams she gathers 
Kindly angels send in sleep. 

But within her chamber watching 

For the tones she cannot hear, 
On a sudden music softens, 

Like a whisper in her ear. 

Now she dreams but not in silence — 

See her bosom rise and fall ; 
Through the casement steals a shadow. 

Bending nearer lithe and tall. 



JESSIE LINDEN, 151 

How could moments such be pictured ! 

See the pale bride's marble cheek, 
While the wind still moans and answers, 

Louder than the priest can speak. 

But her dreams are all unbroken, 
You may read them in those eyes ; 

How I tremble at her stillness, 
So unstirred that bosom lies. 



In that chamber they are kneeling, 
Then she sees and hears no more ; 

Angry voices wild are meeting, 
Iron hands have forced the door. 

Words of stern and fierce contention. 
Where were vows and prayers anon ; 

While fiery oaths with swords are clashing. 
And a human life is gone ! 



162 JESSIE LINDEN. 

Prone she lies beneath the casement, 

Leans her forehead on the sill, 
But there's blood upon its fairness 

Where the moon falls cold and still. 

Hark, the wind among the arches, 

See, the rites are almost o'er, 
And the bridegroom's steeds are prancing 

Just without the minster-door. 

Which is real among those visions ? 
See the maiden glance around ; 
Now she hears the priest's responses. 
Now a dying murmur sound. 

Feels the pearls upon her forehead 

Where his kiss of old had lain, _!^ 

Deems the weight his dying blood-drops 

Burning in her frenzied brain ! 



JESSIE LINDEN. 153 

Hark, the wind is moaning louder, 

Look, her eyes are wilder still ! 
Would to God the rite were ended, 

Priest and guests are cold and chill. 

'' Ye are one," he slowly utters, 

'' Kneel in prayer your God before ;" 

But the wind booms up so fiercely, 
That his words are heard no more. 

Now the rites are all concluded, 

And the kneeling watchers rise ; 
Still she kneels fair Jessie Linden, 

Cold and white her mantle lies. 

Now one bends beside the maiden 

With a word of low reproof ; 
How they start those worldly gazers, 

As he springs so far aloof. 

0, the wind among the arches. 

It has altered in its tone ; 

7 



154 JESSIE LINDEN. 

Now there seems a low thanksgiving 
In the surging of its moan. 

Cold hands raise fair Jessie Linden, 
Voices shriek within her ear — 

0, not tones of sinful mortals 
New made angels bend to hear I 

O'er her forehead gleam the jewels, 
Pale and calm and cold she lies. 

Yet a smile is on those features, 
And within those half shut eyes. 

Broken vows have ceased to trouble, 
Earthly hopes and cares have fled ; 

Ah, the wind had murmured truly, 
Jessie Linden lielh dead. 



TRUE HEARTS. 155 



TRUE HEARTS. 

A WESTERN forest village, 

Beneath th€)se prairie skies, 
Where sunlight in the greenwood danced, 

Like dreams in maidens' eyes. 

A small and scattered hamlet. 

Within the maples' shade. 
Where all the day the woodman's axe, 

A muffled music made. 

A narrow street sloped from its edge, 
The village church between — 

Be^^ond, the grass was trodden smooth, 
Upon the school-hou^e green. 

An old and time-worn dwelling 
They made the village inn, 



156 TRUE HEARTS. 

Wliosc sign Tipon the willow creaked 
To merriment within. 

A Sabbath stillness reigned around 
Wlicre'er the feet might roam, 

Until with Sunset's shadows came 
The threshers plodding home. 

She watched beside the casement, 
That girl with dreamy eyes, 

Where visions swift went flitting past, 
Like shadows o'er the skies. 

Fair as a blossom in the shade. 
Pure as the gleaning Ruth, 

Her heart so full of purity. 
Her eyes so rich with truth. 

She watched beside the casement 

As she had done before, 
As maidens oft shall do the same 

Who read this story o'er. 



TRUE HEARTS. 157 

A tread was on the grass without, 

A shadow 'ncath the tree ; 
A step smote o'er the mossy sill — 

She knew that it was he. 

Her gentle heart was in her eyes, 

Tier hands in his embrace ; 
The sunbeams flung their rays to make 

The dimples in her face. 

It was not that she said a word 

Beneath his kisses glow 5 
But crimson blushes stained her cheek, 

Like sunset over snow. 

And neither broke the silence sweet, 

They could but smile or sigh ; 
The wind caught up the mingled tone. 

And softened wandered by. 

That summer-time, when daisies slept. 
And shadows gloomed the tree. 



158 TRUE HEARTS. 

The maiden heard a tread without, 
And knew that it was he. 

The skies had gained a deeper hue, 
The Autumn leaves were sere, 

And on the mossy porch they lay, 
Like shadows cold and drear. 

No step trod down the oaken sill 

To which her pulses beat ; 
The maiden waited long to hear 

The coming of those feet. 

Some word or glance Pride might not brook- 
Alas, a change was there ! 

Long time since she had felt his kiss 
Beneath her sunny hair. 

And each was proud and both were mute, 
And naught the lips might speak ; 

Naught but the pain within his eyes, 
The pallor on her cheek. 



TRUE HEARTS. 159 

A stranger to the village came, 

A man of noble birth, 
Whose wealth and might were all the talc 

Beside the farmer's hearth. 

He boasted gold beyond compare, 

And gems a queen might prize, 
But swore the richest were not worth 

One glance of her dear eyes. 

He wreathed his jewels round her brow, 

And clasped them with a kiss ; 
The maiden's heart was stirred with pride — 

She deemed it loving bliss ! 

And never o'er the threshold came 

The step she watched of yore, 
And from her presence still the Youth 

Fled farther than before ; 

Till in an evil hour she took 
The gift that stranger gave ; 



160 TRUE HEARTS. 

And as his titled bride she sought 
A home beyond the wave. 

She trod the halls that princes trod, 
And blushed beneath their smile ; 

Yet for the coming of that step 
She waited all the while ! 

She sat in halls where queens had sat, 

And she was robed as they : 
And none might know to hear that laugh, 

Her heart was far away. 



The fair-haired Youth who once had kept 

His hopes within her eyes, 
Had wandered from that hamlet too, 

And from those forest skies. 

He dwelt within a city's din, 
His name was spreading wide ; 



TRUE HEARTS. 161 

Wealth and renown were in his grasp, 
The Future was his bride ! 

In Senate halls his name was heard 

In clarion peals of strength ; 
And he from that great woe had gained 

A lofty power at length. 

He feasted with earth's mighty ones, 

He sought Ambition's track ; 
Yet sometimes on his wasted bliss. 

He mournfully looked back. 

Their paths had severed far and wide, 
Although their names would meet. 

And they themselves had learned those names 
As strangers to repeat. 

Fame knew him as her darling son, 

The vv^orld that Lady proud ; 

About their feet sweet incense lay, 

And praises echoed loud. 
7* 



162 TRUE HEARTS. 

But she in oaken chair of state 
"With courtiers grouped around, 

And he in Senate halls enthroned, 
By that same spell were bound. 

He trod the olden porch again, 
And sat beneath that tree ; 

She heard a step upon the sill, 
And thouo'ht that it was he I 



Years trod their way above the dead, 
The dead our hearts most prize ; 

Within the chambers once so glad, 
A hundred phantoms rise. 

Within that forest's lonely shade 
The Summer sun looked down ; 

There was no change in dell or glade, 
Since last we o-azed thereon. 



TRUE HEARTS. 163 

A pale form by the casement watched, 

A shape with mournful eyes ; 
And shadows lay as thick therein,. 

As storms in Autumn's skies. 

Pale as a bud the frost hath touched, 

The shadow of that Ruth, 
Whose heart had lost its early bloom, 

Whose eyes had lost their truth. 

She watched beside the casement now 

As she had done before ; 
You might have deemed her ghost had sought 

The haunts she loved of yore. 

A tread was on the grass without, 

A shadow 'neath the tree ; 
A step smote o'er the mossy sill — 

She knew that it was he ! 

Her wild, worn heart was in her eyes. 
And he was kneeling nigh ; 



164 TRUE HEARTS. 

The passing wind bore on its tone 
A mingled prayer and sigh. 

Fate in its might had set her free, 
She prized the offering now ; 

Regretful tears bedewed her cheek, 
And faith lit up her brow. 

For him the strife of fame forgot, 
Ambition lured no more ; 

Beneath that forest tree they sat, 
Beneath the sun of yore. 



LADY GINEVEA. t65 



LADY GINEVRA. 

The Lady Ginevra was brave in her pride, 
The Lady Ginevra was an old man's bride ; 
They gave her away, they bound lier to him 
Whose frame was feeble, whose sight was dim ; 
She was a maiden with eagle eyes. 
And he at the age when worn man dies. 
She was straight and tall and strangely fair, 
With a will to do and a soul to dare ; 
Her cheek was pale and her mien was cold, 
She looked like a nun whose vows are told ; 
She had lips like blood on the foam of the sea, 
But she kept their ripeness charily. 
Seldom she spoke, more seldom she smiled, 
As she sate in her bower with eyes so wild ; 
Seldom she moved, a form of stone. 
Telling Life's pulses one by one — 



166 LADY GINEVRA. 

Slowly they fell with a measured chime, 
To the mocking laugh of the tyrant Time. 

Her Lord was aged, feeble and grim, 

Little she recked for joys with him ; 

He slept by the fire and he dozed in his chair, 

While she in her tower kept vigil there. 

He was bloodless and cold and he loved himself, 

Her parents had loved his sordid pelf, 

But the Lady Ginevra loved nothing, not she, 

Her soul was as lone as a shipless sea. 

Where the billows fought and the wild surfs broke, 

While her eyes looked on where a devil woke, 

And her lips would murmur but not .in prayer. 

As you might see by her eyes' wild stare. 

So Time sped onward as Time will do, 

With those who sorrow and those who woo ; 

Feasting his full on human lives, 

The wretch who moans and the priest who shrives. 



LADY GINEYRA. 167 

He growled at the Lord in his easy chair, 
And mocked at the Lady so ghostly fair ; 
Her fingers woukl knit like the claws of a hawk, 
Ever she muttered but would not talk, 
Watching the Lord in his slumber deep, 
With eyes that scorched but could not weep. 

There came a Youth to the castle old, 

His looks were keen and his mien was bold ; 

He held in his hand a light guitar. 

And rang strange tales of lands afar. 

Her maidens flew to the Lady's bower. 

And told of the Youth and his magic power ; 

So dull was life in that Castle hall, 

His strain had roused them one and all. 

The lady arose and laughed aloud, 

Though pale as a ghost in cap and shroud : — 

" Does he wear soft blue as a minstrel should, 

And a faded rose as a minstrel would, 



168 LADY GINEVRA. 

Is his heart on his lips and his soul in his eyes, 
That speak something of truth but more of lies ?"- 
Then straight they spoke with rare delight, 
And clamored loud of the minstrel wight, 
And the Lady smiled in fiendish glee, 
And the maidens laughed in company. 
" To lose his song were a wanton sin. 
So open the portals and bid him in ; 
Nor wake the Lord, let him doze and sleep, 
What careth he if we laugh or weep ? 
And you shall dance to the minstrel's mirth. 
And make new glee by this haunted hearth." 
They clapped their hands and ran away. 
They had heard no songs for many a day. 
And up the stairs they hurried the Youth, 
Whose eyes were lit with naught of truth. 

The Lady sat in her high-backed chair, 
Such a mien as hers a corpse might wear ; 



LADY GINEVEA. 169 

Her lips would mutter as they did of old, 
Her eyes were open, wild and cold ; 
He came like a knight in minstrel guise — 
You know not a ship by the flag it flies ! 
His air was proud and haughty his crest, 
A manly heart 'neath that silken vest. 
Ho sate him down at the Lady's feet. 
His voice was soft, his lute was sweet ; 
She never moved but listened to him, 
While the Lord slept below in slumber grim. 
*' A song, a song," the maidens cried, 
" Of a heart-sick queen or a love-lorn bride ; 
A tale of sorrow, of woe and sin, 
For those are the stories we revel in ; 
Then strike us a measure fitful and gay, 
And swiftly we'll dance the hours away." 

1. 
The Lady Blanche was fair to see, 

The Lady Blanche was gay ; 



170 LADY GINEVRA. 

In festal halls and tournies bright, 
She was the queen alway. 

II. 
Her voice was like the Summer winds, 

Her step was just as light ; 
She stole across the waiting heart, 

Like morning over night. 

III. 
And charily she ke}3t her smiles, 

And spent them all on one ; 
He warmed himself within their light, 

Like childhood in the sun. 

IV. 

She took his heart within her clasp, 
And soothed it 'neatli her sm'le, 

And so they lived and loved alway, 
Yet dreamin.Q: all the while. 



LADY GINEVRA. 171 

V. 

The clouds came up athwart then- sky, 

And wrapt them in their fold ; 
And then they looked and saw a grave, 

Where roses bloomed of old. 

VI. 

The Lady Blanche must be a bride. 

The Lady Blanche was sold ; 
The Lady Blanche's bewitching eyes 

Had won a miser's gold. 

VTI. 

He bore her ofi' in fiendish glee, 

Unto his castle grim ; 
The Lady Blanche lived day by day. 

And saw no sight but him. 

VIII 
And still she kept her maiden vow. 

And sent her soul afar, 

That linked its wings with him she loved, 

Above the vile world's jar. 



172 LADY GINEVKA. 

IX. 

He came at length and claimed her vow, 

He sought the miser's lair, 
And 'mid the gloom with watching pale. 

He found her seated there. 

X. 

His soul was strong and hers was true. 

And love is good to see. 
Nor human laws can check its course, 

And so their hearts were free. 

The Lady Ginevra raised never her head, 
Though the maidens marveled at the tale he had 

read. 
And the minstrel was kneeling and vailing his 

eyes. 
That spoke something of truth but much more of 

lies ; 
While the Lord was asleep in his chair below, 
And dreamed not of shame and recked not of woe, 



LADY GINEVRA. 173 

Though the pale Lady's cheek and the false min- 

strcl's eyes, 
Spoke truths that had better, much better been 

lies. 



The casement was open to slumbrous light. 

And in sprang the minstrel who looked like a 

Knight, 
And down at her feet he knelt with the moon. 
That lay broken and pale on the floor at its noon. 
The Lady's cold eyes had lost their fierce glare, 
And soft as the moonbeams they fell on him there. 
The flow of her tears on his forehead v/as bright — 
Alas, for the old Lord who slumbered that night ! 
The minstrel all passion, the Lady all glow. 
The weight of her blushes had left stain upon 

snow ; 
He urged her to flee to that radiant clime. 
Where blossoms grow white while the fruit is in 

prime ; 



174 LADY GINEVRA. 

He told her of trees interlaced with the vine, 
And vintages crimson with ruby red wine, 
And thickets of myrtle like new-fallen snow, 
With odorous violets blooming below. 
Then he spoke of his love, of his passion and 

trust, 
Of the heart she had trampled in scorn to the dust, 
Till her cheek was like fire in the glow of its 

shame, 
And her heart on her lips as she murmured his 

name. 
O, the contrast was fearful — that shadowy room, 
With its draperies sweeping like night in the 

gloom. 
Then the picture he drew of the home they should 

find, 
With her Past and its memories left far behind. 
She drank the bright poison that swam in his eyes. 
And clung to him fondly while bidding him rise. 



LADY GINEVRA. 175 

Lo, a sound at the door — a laugh and a groan — 
He sprang to his feet but they stood not alone I 
For ere he could spring from the casement away, 
The old Lord stood shaking his locks thin andgray ; 
He had sought the high turret and gained the lone 

room, 
Like the coming of Fate he appeared in the gloom I 
Pointing his finger and gazing at him, 
His palsied frame shaking in body and limb ; 
He was clenching his hands and leering with rage, 
His blood rushing hot spite the chill of his age. 

They gazed on each other and looked back at him, 
And fearful thoughts started up silent and dim ; 
They drew near the old Lord mute in his ire, 
Her cheek pale as death, the Knight's eyes like 

fire. 
They bore him away, down, down the old stair, — 
The watchers of morning found him dead in his 

chair ! 



176 LADY GINEVKA. 

The lone cage was empty, the proiul bird had 

flown, 
The Lady Ginevra was vanished and gone. 

A twelvemonth passed and new lords reigned 
In the ancient halls where a life had waned, 
And feet shod with music flew over the floor, 
Where silent a pale Doom had glided before, 
And gay mirth and feasting filled up each hour. 
Though lonely and dark was the lost Lady's bower. 
One morning they entered the old Lord's room. 
The past night had made it a coffin and tomb. 
White were her garments, dim her eyes' glare, 
Rigid and dead, the Lady sat there. 



THE HALL OF SHADOWS. 177 



THE HALL OF SHADOWS. 

See the waves gleam in the distance, 

Mark the billows troubled shine, 
As they kiss the white sand's bosom, 

On the dull shore's changeless line. 
0, the scene is like a picture. 

Yet I shudder as I gaze ; 
List the billows hollow murmur, 

Like a troubled soul that prays I 
Wide in front the ocean dashing. 

Then the white shore's endless sweep ; 
In the midst a tranquil valley, 

Far beyond the mountains steep. 
Near the beach an ancient dwelling 

With a hundred mighty rooms, 

Where a fearful Past outjutting, 

Grandly in the Present looms. 
*8 



178 THE HALT. OF SHADOWS. 

There are halls with olden carvings, 

And a broad and royal sweep, 
Where a monarch's step should echo, 

Bat where shadows only sleep. 
Antique hangings with their pictures. 

Where a thousand tales are told, 
Wrought by hands whose lily fairness 

Feeds the worm beneath the mold. 
Never sunlight through the casements. 

Kisses where the young have trod ; 
There it stands that dwelling lonely. 

Cursed alike by man and God. 
O, it boots not here to picture, 

What a Past that house had known ; 
Let it sleep amid the shadows — 

Pray for those who now are gone 1 

Toward the ocean is a chamber, 
Hung with purple and with gold ; 



THE HALL OF SHADOWS. 179 

Where a queen among her vassals, 

Sate in reg-al pomp of old. 
But the train has long departed. 

Dim the gold amid the gloom ; 
xlnd the gorgeous velvets blackened, 

Hang like palls around the room ; 
AVliile the statues in the niches, 

Look Vv'ith strange, sepulchral stare, 
Like a group of ghosts upstarted. 

Keeping some stern penance there. 
And the ocean sounding onward, 

With its wild and maddening moan, 
Seems to hold a strange communion, 

With those spectres blanched to stone. 

In that chamber sits a woman, 

From those watchers shrouds her eyes, 

While her hair in golden billows, 
Like a glory round her lies. 



180 THE HALL OF SHADOWS. 

Thus she sits for days together, 

Sometimes moans but never stirs — 
Oh, the ocean caught its pining, 

From that fearful moan of hers ! 
Then for days the vaulted arches, 

Echo back her haughty tread. 
As she moves with stern commanding, 

Like a queen among the dead ; 
With her sable garments sweeping, 

x\nd her golden tresses fall ; 
Like the empress of those shadows, 

Ruler of that haunted hall. 

Sometimes on the casement leaning, 
Looks she forward o'er the sea ; 

Then her eyes would raise a tempest, 
And she moans so heavily ! 

Hides her face amid the shadows, 
Clutching mad her auburn hair, 



THE HALL OF SHADOWS. Ibl 

While the statues hx)k out coldly, 

From the frozen pain they bear. 
Then a strange, mysterious moaning, 

Fills the stillness and the room ; 
Through that mansion goes a murmur, 

Like the closing of a tomb ; 
And the statues seem to shudder. 

Waxing taller than before ; 
While those tones unseen reutter — 

" Rouse thee to the curse of j^ore !" 

Prone she falls upon the marble, 

Hugs its coldness to her breast, 
Where the stains of sins unpardoned, 

Deep as dying curses rest. 
Now she rises in her frenzy. 

With her pallid lips apart ; 
Strives to shriek aloud for mercy. 

From the demons at her heart ; 



182 THE HALL OF SHADOWS. 

Till a sudden darkness gathers, 

All is stiller than before, 
Only in the distance sounding 

Voices moan, '' The curse of yore I" 

When the midnight seems the deepest. 

Madder still the wild waves call, 
But more fearful tones reecho, 

'Neath the arches of that hall. 
And the statues seem to shudder. 

Moving slowly through the room ; 
While that voice again cries wildly, 

'^ This it is, obey thy doom !" 
Now the portals move asunder, 

And the awful train pass through, 
Moves that lady 'mong the spectres. 

Pale as if a shadow too. 
In the hall where monarchs feasted, 

Now a mighty board is spread ; 



THE HALL OF SHADOWS. 183 

Gather round those pallid faces, 
Comes lone among the dead. 

Flashing goblets are uplifted, 

Hark, again that fearful moan — 
In the doorwa}^ stands a figure, 

Cries, ''The toast I give — lone !" 
Drenched his garments by the billows, 

On his brow a crimson stain, 
Points his finger toward the lady, 

Speaks aloud the toast again. 
Now the tempest in its ftuy. 

Shakes that mansion to the roof, 
And the fiercest of those spectres 

From the lady starts aloof. 
On a sudden ope the casements. 

And the ocean foams below, 
While in strange and weird procession. 

All those phantoms come and go. 



184 THE HALL OF SHADOWS. 

Then that Page before the ladj — 

In his strange sepulchral tone — 
Cries again, " I wait thy summons, 

Proud defier, false lone/' 
Then she kneels in prayer before him, 

But her tears and vows are vain ! 
Sin her cruel beauty uttered, 

Is her meed of endless pain. 
With the billows and the tempest 

Like a thousand fiends at strife, 
Flings she far a precious jewel — 

" With this ring I'm thine for life I" 
As she shrieks the fatal challenge, 

All the spectres moan again ; 
But the mad-eyed Youth obeying, 

Sinks in silence 'neath the main. 



THE poet's offering. 185 



THE POET'S OFFERING. 



A WILD, untutored boy, the child of dreams ; 
You saw the shadow of their brooding- wings 
Amid the brown locks on his veined brow, 
And visionary sadness of those eyes, 
Their misty temple and their chosen home. 
I saw him first among the wild, free groves 
Of the New World — that youngest child of nature. 
He had outgrown his bloom of years, and trode 
With bitter moaning up a thorny track, 
Where the feet sank as in a dark morass, 
And the long brambles clung about his way, 
And dragged him back when he would fain have 
sought 

To mount some hill beyond and view the Sun. 

8* 



186 THE poet's offering. 

His soul was full of longiugs and unrest, 
Which aught he found was powerless to still ; 
Nor was it that he walked the earth alone, 
For there were kindred hearts around to love, 
And those to whom his soul clung tenderl}^. 
But naught wore likeness of the dream he sought. 
I saw him oft amid great cities' din, 
That same unquiet shadow on his brow, 
So strange in one so young, with air perplexed, 
As him who in a wandering labyrinth sees 
No clue to lead him from the winding maze. 
And often when the earth lay prone and red 
Beneath the amorous Summer's warm embrace, 
He wandered 'mid the silence of a vale, 
Remote and tranquil from the strife of tov/ns, 
A lone and dreamy spot wdiich stilled the soul 
Of him unquiet like a good man's prayer. 
He roved among the peaks that hemmed it in, 
And gazed w^ith longing o'er the wide expanse, 
Sick with the daring hope that filled his soul, 



THE poet's offering. 187 

To drag the Future from her dreamless rest, 
And force her secrets through the Present's lips. 
He had dreams with clarion-tones, mad hopes, 
That waxed in stature like the Titan babes, 
And were the strongest when he blindly deemed. 
The last had fallen from its grandeur dead. 
He groped amid a deep impenetrable gloom. 
Pressing a holly 'gainst his bruised lips, 
With fervent prayers for death who ne'er had lived. 
I know he struggled thus what seemed to him 
The space of many years, but counted time 
By heart-throbs, so he erred. There came a 

change ! 
The skies above took sudden hues of light, 
Like those which go before a summer dawn. 
The path he trod grew gentler in its course, 
With flowrets waiting for the sun to ope. 
And shed their perfume round his dreary way. 



188 THE poet's OFFERINa. 

II. 

Time passed ; he was a rover on the main, 
Though still with all the freshness of yonng life 
Upon his dreamy brow. The spirit forced him 
From the still beauty of that valley haunt, 
And held out promises more grand that they 
Were misty as a landscape after rain. 
Then among cities of the ancient World 
He was a wanderer, and at times amid 
The maddened worshipers of Pleasure's train, 
For all the strength of Youth was in his blood, 
But within the wildest of his orgies, 
Ne'er forgot the aim that spirit-guide had shown. 
Through all his course it is not meet we follow ; 
Enough that ere a lengthened season dimmed 
The whiteness of his boyish soul's sweet truth. 
That guide had bade him on. He rested now 
Beneath the skies that long had been the home 
Of his most gorgeous visions ; sate him down 



THE poet's offering. 189 

Within the shade of ruins where the wind 
Surged proudly up as it had caught a tone 
Of funeral grandeur from the mighty Past. 
Among far shrines he wore the pilgrim's shoon, 
And worshiped at the altars where his soul 
Had knelt in dreams before. Why was he there ? 
A voice had bade him on, a mighty will 
Had tracked the course and he was weak to strive. 
He knew a change was nearing, but of what ? 
His hopes had taken all a voice and shape, 
Waking faint echoes in the world's great heart, 
But, not of fame or praise that vision spoke. 

III. 
The boy had writ a wild, unstudied tale 

Which gave his soul relief, though faintly there 
Were imaged spectres that his being saw. 
The shape which rose before his startled view 
And grew his own, was fearful in its might ; 
And could he but have pictured forth in words 



190 THE poet's offering. 

Sights unto his spirit visible, that form 
Had started up in presence like a god, 
Stern-visaged and gigantic-limbed, with shapes 
More varied than the tempter fiend of old, 
And bared to each a face should seem his own. 
As shadows o'er the water fell the forms, 
And out from all his struggles naught was there 
Save a weird picture dusk, confused and dim. 
And strange, as broken statues, olden shields, 
Draperies uncouth and gorgeous robes, all heaped 
Within the shadow of some antique shrine, 
With wild-eyed spectres gliding to and fro. 
And moaning vainly o'er an open grave. 

While he was pausing midwaj^ in his task, 
Among the dreams that kept him company, 
A sudden impulse called him forth one eve, 
Into the world that he had left behind. 
Hast ever seen an eastern morning burst. 
Without a token in its grandeur forth, 



191 

And all the sky before so pale and cold, 
Put on such hues it seemed as if a troop 
Of angels on a sudden spanned the arch, 
And waved their golden mantles down the vault ? 
Hast had a wondrous hope spring up full-born, 
Like Pallas from the brain of Jove, grand-statured, 
Or from the widened sepulchre of time 
Fulfillment of a huge desire emerge, 
Another Lazarus although uncalled ? 
The morning broke upon his being there ; 
Upstrode the sun, the Eastern gates oped wide 
To let his long and gorgeous train pass through. 
Like some great warrior host with trappings grand, 
And streaming banners all of gold and blue, 
Sweeping afar in royal strength and pride. 
With every gleaming ensign wide unfurled. 
And blades of light along the azure track. 
As they had flung their burnished sabres down, 
In all the pomp of martial strength they came ; 



192 THE poet's offering. 

It was his Life's transfiguration ! 

No more he trod the earth a man 'mong men, 

Ho was upraised to Heaven and walked in light. 

His soul spread wide her wings as yet untried, 

And bathed exulting in a higher day, 

While founts which long had woke in cold regret, 

Now burst in all their singing glory forth, 

And swelled the ocean where his hopes uprode. 

He knew not where he stood, saw naught of earth 
But seemed in one great space of light alone. 
And in the distance where the glories met, 
Beheld the image of his fairest dream. 
When all this morn became more palpable. 
He knew he stood within a crowd that moved 
In idle mirth, nor had a passing glimpse 
Of that elysium wherein he dwelt. 
A young girl sat, serene light in her ejos, 
With not such beauty as the gay adore, 



193 

But like to Una's with her milk-white lamb. 
Her face was clear with purity of truth, 
And all emotions through its calm looked out, 
As dimpled waters through the sunlight's vail. 
She raised her eyes — you thought almost she spoke, 
They poured such beams effulgent gladly forth ! 
He gazed until he could not turn away ; 
His soul liad asked an aim and one was given, 
A faith, in shape so real it came. That eve 
No word was spoke and yet he deemed they held 
A converse long, and when he went his w^ay 
Bethought him it was years since first they met. 
She was so like the form that long had moved 
Within the temple of his mind. They met 
But thrice, yet what those meetings were to him, 
The long unclouded sweep beyond this night. 
Where ye^rs and souls break into morning grand, 
Alone should tell. She sat within the shade, 
While glows of light from out an antique vase, 



194 THE poet's offering. 

Gemmed o'er the dusky softness of her hair ; 
Down flowed her azure robe in stirless folds 
An ancient sculptor would have made, so still 
In that strang-e speaking calmness there she leant. 
She looked not of the throng that moved around ; 
Lone as a statue in a garden placed, 
Lone as the midnight with the Vestal moon 
Who treads with white feet up the aisled sky, 
Lone as a lily o'er a torrent's edge — 
A dreaming Undine with Titania's grace. 

Grand peals of music swelled upon the air, 
And she was listening with her soul astir, 
That looked like sunlight from the upper skies 
Through the blue glory of her lambent orbs. 
She laid her hand in his without a word, 
Save of the silent greeting eyes may give, 
Then turned to that proud music surging up 
Which found responses in her breast. The boy 
Stood by to read the music in her face. 



THE POET'S OFFERING. 196 

And when the strain to which she listened died, 
Moved not, the melody that stilled his heart 
Was eloquent upon her lips and brow. 
Once that eve she put some flowers in his hand, 
Perchance the movement of some passing thought, 
But had she lain her heart within his clasp, 
He had not trembled more from that excess 
Of happiness. 

And thus and there they parted I 
There was no time for speech and had there been, 
His lips had never dared to frame in words 
That which his heart dared not itself to name. 
But for an instant was her hand in his, 
Her latest smile went down his soul in light. 
Like some lone sunbeam through a minster-aisle. 
The simplest partings on those maiden lips. 
The same or colder than she gave those near; 
Then a mist was o'er his gaze — he saw not 
The crowd that hovered near — heard as afar 



196 THE poet's offerings. 

The murmur of their laughing tones — then looked, 
And saw the throng divide as she swept through — 
Then close as waves of Life close o'er our hopes — 
And he had lost her ! 

Did they meet again — 
Learned she the secret that had grown his all — 
And if she knew, what was her heart's response ? 
Were all the foldings of its leaves unswept, 
And went she onward in her calm repose, 
To leave him groping 'mid the darkness still ; 
Or was the quiet of her breast disturbed, 
And the snowy altar where her spirit bowed, 
Lit with a holy flame fed by her hopes. 
Her prayers, her dreams? Alas, I cannot tell, 
As yet the fulness of the time was not ! 
The Summer and her breath the flowers died. 
And still among his dreams the poet sat, 
And dared not hope and would not yield to fear. 
I know he gave unto the world his book, 



THE poet's offering. 197 

Yet 'twas not for its cliildren that he gave, 
But laid it as an ofiering he might make 
Upon the shrine where he had lain his heart, 
And 'mid the duskj^ sadness of his soul. 
Sat waiting for her answer. 



THE END. 



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